


^^ 







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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 
AND OTHER POEMS 



G 



A Senes of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and 
Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. 



l6mo. 



Cloth. 



25c. each. 



Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. 

Andersen's Fairy Tales. 

Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 

Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum. 

Browning's Shorter Poems. 

Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected). 

Burke's Speech on Conciliation. 

Byron's Childe Haro'd's Pilgrimage. 

Byron's Shorter Poems. 

Carlyle's Essay on Burns. 

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship. 

Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Won- 
derland (Illustrated). 

Chaucer's Prologue and Knight's Tale. 

Church's The Story of the Iliad. 

Church's The Story of the Odyssey. 

Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner. 

Cooper's The Deerslayer. 

Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans. 

Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 

De Quincey's Confessions of an 
English, Opium- Eater. 

Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and The 
Cricket on the Hearth. 

Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. 

Early American Orations, 1760-1824. 

Edwards' (Jonathan) Sermons. 

Eliot's Silas Marner. 

Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History. 

Franklin's Autobiography. 

Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. 

Grimm's Fairy Tales. 

Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. 

Hawthorne's The House of the Seven 
Gables. 

Hawthorne's Twice-told Tales (Selec- 
tions from). 

Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. 

Homer's Iliad. 

Homer's Odyssey, 

Irving's Life of Goldsmith. 

Irving's The Alhambra. 

Irving's Sketch Book. 

Keary's Heroes of Asgard, 



Kingsley's The Heroes. 
Lamb's Essays. 
Longfellow's Evangeline. 
Longfellow's Miles Standish. 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal 
Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 
Macaulay's Essay on Hastings. 
Macaulay's Essay on Lord Clive. 
Macaulay's Essay on Milton. 
Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rom.e. 
Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson. 
Milton's Comus and Other Poems. 
Milton's Paradise Lost, Bks. I and II. 
Old English Ballads. 
Out of the Northland 
Palgrave's Golden Treasury. 
Plutarch's Lives (C«sar, Brutus, and 

Mark Antony). 
Poe's Poems. 

Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from). 
Pope's Homer's Iliad. 
Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. 
Scott's Ivanhoe. 
Scott's Lady of the Lake. 
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
Scott's Marmion. 
Scott's Quentin Durward. 
Scott's The Talisman. 
Shakespeare's As You Like It, 
Shakespeare's Hamlet. 
Shakespeare's Julius Csesar. 
Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. 
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 
Shelley and Keats: Poems. 
Southern Poets : Selections. 
Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 
Stevenson's Treasure Island. 
Swift's Gulliver's Travels. 
Tennyson's Idylls of the King. 
Tennyson's The Princess. 
Tennyson's Shorter Poems. 
Woolman's Journal. 
Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. 



OTHERS TO FOLLOW, 




MATTHEW ARNOLD. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD'S 

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 

AND OTHER POEMS 

EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
BY 

JUSTUS COLLINS CASTLEMAN 

HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH IN THE BLOOMINGTON 
HIGH SCHOOL, BLOOMINGTON, INDIANA 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
1905 

All rights reserved 



LIBRARY of 0GfVGS£3£ 
Two Copies tifxavco 

WAV 15 iyu5 

CUS6 ^ XAc. Nw 
COPY B. 



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Copyright, 1905, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1905. 



^ PREFACE 

' Matthew Arnold's poetry is preeminently the work 
of a scholar and a gentleman, and, as such, has a place 
in the high school and in the lives of young people. 
The ethical teachings of his verse, with their unvarying 
insistence upon the supremacy of conduct and duty, are 
especially helpful, while the classic nature of his style 
and manner afford a singular charm and interest. The 
aim of this little volume, then, is to familiarize, in a 
measure, the high school student with one of the ablest 
poetic spirits of the last century and to add one more 
name to his list of poet acquaintances. 

The present edition attempts little in the way of 
criticism, the introduction and notes being intended 
merely to supply the needs of those students who do 
not have access to a well-stocked library. Suggestive 
questions have also been added, which are designed to 
aid in the appreciation and interpretation of the included 
poems. 

The editor wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to 



VI PREFACE 

several excellent older editions of Sohrah and Rustum, 
and also to his brother, J. H. Castleman, Master of 
English at the Michigan Military Academy, for valna- 
ble suggestions. Other sources from which information 
has been drawn in preparing this edition are mentioned 
under " Bibliography." 

J. C. C. 

Bloomington, Indiana, 
January, 1905. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Preface .,.,.. v 

Introduction 

A Short Life of Arnold ix 

Arnold the Poet xvi 

Arnold the Critic xxix 

Chronological List of Arnold's Works . . . xxxiv 

Contemporary Authors xxxix 

Bibliography xl 

SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 
Narrative Poems 

Sohrab and Rustum 1 

Saint Brandan 28 

The Forsaken Merman 31 

Tristram and Iseult ....... 36 

Lyrical Poems 

The Church of Brou 63 

Requiescat . . . . ... .70 

Consolation . . . . . . . .71 

A Dream 74 

Lines written in Kensington Gardens ... 75 

The Strayed Reveller 77 

vii 



vni CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Morality 87 

Dover Beach 88 

Philomela 90 

Human Life 91 

Isolation 92 

Kaiser Dead . . , 93 

The Last Word .96 

Palladium 97 

Revolutions ........ 98 

Self-Dependence 99 

A Summer Night 100 

Geist's Grave 103 

Epilogue to Lessing's Laocoon 106 

Sonnets 

Quiet Work 115 

Shakespeare 115 

Youth's Agitations 116 

Austerity of Poetry 117 

Worldly Place 117 

East London 118 

West London 119 

Elegiac Poems 

Memorial Verses 121 

The Scholar- Gipsy 123 

Thyrsis 132 

Rugby Chapel . . 140 

NOTES 149 

Index to Notes 213 



INTRODUCTION 



A SHORT LIFE OF AENOLD 

Matthew Arnold, poet and critic, was born in the vil- 
lage of Laleham, Middlesex County, England, December 
24, 1822. He was the son of Dr. Thomas Arnold, best 
remembered as the great Head Master at Rugby and in 
later years distinguished also as a historian of Rome, and 
of Mary Penrose Arnold, a woman of remarkable charac- 
ter and intellect. 

Devoid of stirring incident, and comparatively free from 
the eccentricities so common to men of genius, the story 
of Arnold's life is soon told. As a boy he lived the life 
of the normal English lad, with its healthy routine of 
task and play. He was at school at both I^aleham and 
Winchester, then at Rugby, where he attracted attention 
as a student and won a prize for poetry. In 1840 he was 
elected to an open scholarship at Balliol College, Oxford, 
and the next year matriculated for his university work. 

Arnold's career at Oxford was a meuiorable one. While 
there he was associated with such men as John Duke 
Coleridge, John Shairp, Dean Eraser, Dean Church, 
John Henry Newman, Thomas Hughes, the Froudes, and, 



X INTRODUCTION 

closest of all, with Arthur Hugh Clough, whose early- 
death he lamented iu his exquisite elegiac poem — 
Thyrsis. Among this brilliant company Arnold mov^ed 
with ease, the recognized favorite. Having taken the 
Newdigate prize for English verse, and also having won 
a scholarship, he was graduated with honors in 1844, and 
in March of the following year had the additional dis- 
tinction of being elected a Fellow of Oriel, the crowning 
glory of an Oxford graduate. He afterward taught clas- 
sics for a short time at Kugby, then in 1847 accepted the 
post of private secretary to the Marquis of Lansdowne, 
Lord President of the Council, which position he occupied 
until 1851, when he was appointed Lay Inspector of 
Schools by the Committee on Education. The same 
year he married Frances Lucy Wightman, daughter of 
Sir William Wightman, judge of the Court of the Queen's 
Bench. 

Arnold's record as an educator is unparalleled in the 
history of England's public schools. For more than 
thirty-five years he served as inspector and commissioner, 
which offices he filled with efficiency. As inspector he 
was earnest, conscientious, versatile ; beloved alike by 
teachers and pupils. The Dean of Salisbury likened his 
appearance, to inspect the school at Kiddermaster, to the 
admission of a ray of light when a shutter is suddenly 
opened in a darkened room. All-in-all, he valued happy- 
appearing children, and kindly sympathetic teachers, more 
than excellence in grade reports. In connection with the 
duties of his office as commissioner, he travelled fre- 



A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD XI 

quently on the Continent to inquire into foreign methods 
of primary and secondary education. Here he found 
much that was worth while, and often carried back to 
London larger suggestions and ideas than the national 
mind was ready to accept. Under his supervision, how- 
ever, the school system of England was extensively re- 
vised and improved-. He resigned his position under the 
Committee of" Council on Education, in 1886, two years 
before his death. 

In the meantime Arnold's pen had not been idle. His 
first volume of verse. The Strayed Reveller and Other 
Poems, appeared (1848), and although quietly received, 
slowly won its way into public favor. The next year the 
narrative poem. The Sick King in Bokhara, came out, and 
was followed in turn by a third volume in 1853, under 
the title of Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems. By 
this time Arnold's reputation as a poet was established, 
and in 1857 he was elected Professor of Poetry at Ox- 
ford, where he began his career as a lecturer, in which 
capacity he twice visited America. Merope, a Tragedy 
(1856) and a volume under the title of New Poeyns 
(1869) finish the list of his poetical works, with the ex- 
ception of occasional verses. 

Arnold's prose works, aside from his letters, consist 
wholly of critical essays, in which he has dealt fearlessly 
with the greater issues of his day. As will be seen by 
their titles (see page xxxviii of this volume), the subject- 
matter of these essays is of very great scope, embracing 
in theme literature, politics, social conduct, and popular 



xil INTRODUCTION 

religion. By them Arnold has exerted a remarkable influ- 
ence on public thought and stamped himself as one of the 
ablest critics and reformers of the last century. Arnold's 
life was thus one of many widely diverse activities and was 
at all times deeply concerned with practical as well as with 
literary affairs ; and on no side was it deficient in human 
sympathies and relations. He won respect and reputa- 
tion while he lived, and his works continue to attract 
men's minds, although with much unevenness. It has 
been said of him that, of all the modern poets, except 
Goethe, he was the best critic, and of all the modern 
critics, with the same exception, he was the best poet. 
He died at Liverjjool, where he had gone to meet his 
daughter returning from America, April 15, 1888. By 
his death the world lost an acute and cultured critic, a 
refined writer, an earnest educational reformer, and a 
noble man. He was buried in his native town, Laleham. 

Agreeably to his own request, Arnold has never been 
made the subject for a biography. By means of his let- 
ters, his official reports, and statements of his friends, 
however, one is able to trace the successive stages of his 
career, as he steadily grew in honor and public useful- 
ness. Though somewhat inadequate, the picture thus 
presented is singularly pleasing and attractive. The 
subjoined appreciations have been selected with a view 
of giving the student a glimpse of Arnold as he appeared 
to unprejudiced minds. 

One who knew him at Oxford wrote of him as follows : 
" His perfect self-possession, the sallies of his ready wit, 



A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD xiii 

the humorous turn which he could give to any subject 
that he handled, his gaiety, audacity, and unfailing com- 
mand of words, made him one of the most popular and 
successful undergraduates that Oxford has ever known." 
"He was beautiful as a young man, strong and manly, 
yet full of dreams and schemes. His Olympian manners 
began even at Oxford : there was no harm in them : they 
were natural, not put on. The very sound of his voice 
and wave of his arm were Jove-like.'' — Professor Max 

MtJLLER. 

" He was most distinctly on the side of human enjoy- 
ment. He conspired and contrived to make things pleas- 
ant. Pedantry he abhorred. He was a man of this life 
and this world. A severe critic of this world he indeed 
was ; but, finding himself in it, and not precisely knoAv- 
ing what is beyond it, like a brave and true-hearted man, 
he set himself to make the best of it. Its sights and 
sounds were dear to him. The 'uncrumpling fern, the 
eternal moonlit snow,' the red grouse springing at our 
sound, the tinkling bells of the 'high-pasturing kine,' 
the vagaries of men, of women, and dogs, their odd ways 
and tricks, whether of mind or manner, all delighted, 
amused, tickled him. 

'- In a sense of the word which is noble and blessed, 
he was of the earth earthy. . . . His mind was based on 
the plainest possible things. What he hated most was 
the fantastic — the far-fetched, all-elaborated fancies and 
strained interpretations. He stuck to the beaten track 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

of human experience, and the broader the better. He 
was a plain-sailing man. This is his true note." — Mr. 
Augustine Birrell. 

^'He was incapable of sacrificing the smallest interest 
of anybody to his own ; he had not a spark of envy or 
jealousy ; he stood well aloof from all the bustlings and 
jostlings by which selfish men push on; he bore life's 
disappointments — and he was disappointed in some 
reasonable hopes — with good nature and fortitude; he 
cast no burden upon others, and never shrank from 
bearing his own share of the daily load to the last ounce 
of it; he took the deepest, sincerest, and most active 
interest in the well-being of his country and his coun- 
trymen." — Mr. John Morley. 

In his essay on Arnold, George E. Woodberry speaks 
of the poet's personality as revealed by his letters in the 
following beautif al manner : '' Few who did not know 
Arnold could have been prepared for the revelation of a 
nature so true, so amiable, so dutiful. In every relation 
of private life he is shown to have been a man of excep- 
tional constancy and plainness. . . . Every one must 
take delight in the mental association with Arnold in the 
scenes of his existence . . . and in his family affections. 
A nature warm to its own, kindly to all, cheerful, fond 
of sport and fun, and always fed from pure fountains^ 
and with it a character so founded upon the rock, so 
humbly serviceable, so continuing in power and grace, 
must wake in all the responses of happy appreciation 
and leave the charm of memory. 



A SHORT LIFE OF ARNOLD XV 

"He did his duty as naturally as if it required neither 
resolve nor effort, nor thought of any kind for the mor- 
row, and he never failed, seemingly, in act or word of 
sympathy, m little or great things ; and when to this one 
adds the clear ether of the intellectual life where he 
habitually moved in his own life apart, and tht hu- 
manity of his home, the gift that these letters bring nay 
be appreciated. That gift is the man himself, but set Li' 
the atmosphere of home, with sonship and fatherhood, 
sisters and brothers, with the bereavements of years fully 
accomplished, and those of babyhood and boyhood — a 
sweet and wholesome English home, with all the cloud 
and sunshine of the English world drifting over its roof- 
trees, and the soil of England beneath its stones, and 
English duties for the breath of its being. To add such 
a home to the household rights of English Literature is 
perhaps something from which Arnold would have shrunk, 
but it endears his memory." 

" It may be overmuch 
He shunned the common stain and smutch, 
From soikire of ignoble touch 

Too grandly free, 
Too loftily secure in such 
Cold purity ; 
But he preserved from chance control 
The fortress of his established soul, 
In all things sought to see the whole ; 

Brooked no disguise, 
And set his heart upon the goal. 

Not on the prize. ' ' 
— Mr. William Watson, In Laleham Churchyard. 



xvi INTRODUCTION 



AENOLD THE POET 

Matthew Arnold was essentially a man of the intellect. 
No other author of modern times, perhaps no other 
English author of any time, appeals so directly as he 
to the educated classes. Even a cursory reading of his 
pages, prose or verse, reveals the scholar and the critic. 
He is always thinking, always brilliant, never lacks for 
a word or jjhrase ; and on the whole, his judgments are 
good. Between his prose and verse, however, there is 
a marked difference, both in tone and spiritual quality. 
True, each possesses the note of a lofty, though stoical 
courage ; reveals the same grace of finish and exactness 
of phrase and manner ; and is, in equal degree, the out- 
put of a singularly sane and noble nature ; but here the 
comparison ends ; for, while his prose is often stormy 
and contentious, his poetry has always about it an 
atmosphere of entire repose. The cause of this differ- 
ence is not far to seek. His poetry, written in early 
manhood, reflects his inner self, the more lovable side 
of his nature ; while his prose presents the critic and 
the reformer, pointing out the good and bad, and per- 
mitting at times a spirit of bitterness to creep in, as he 
endeavors to arouse men out of their easy contentment 
with themselves and their surroundings. 

With the exception of occasional verses, Arnold's 
poetical career began and ended inside of twenty years. 
The reason for this can only be conjectured, and need 



ARNOLD THE POET xvil 

not be dwelt upon here. But although, his poetic life 
was brief, it was of a very high order, his poems ranking 
well up among the literary productions of the last century. 
As a popular poet, however, he will probably never class 
with Tennyson or Longfellow. His poems are too coldly 
classical and too unattractive in subject to appeal to the 
casual reader, who is, generally speaking, inclined toward 
poetry of the emotions rather than of the intellect — 
Arnold's usual kind. That he recognized this himself, 
witness the following quiet statements made in letters 
to his friends : " My poems are making their way, I think, 
though slowly, and are perhaps never to make way very 
far. There must always be some people, however, to 
whom the literalness and sincerity of them has a charm. 
. . . They represent, on the whole, the main movement 
of mind of the last quarter of a century, and thus they 
will probably have their day, as people become con- 
scious to themselves of what that movement of mind is, 
and interested in the literary productions which reflect 
it." Time has verified the accuracy of this judgment. 
In short, Arnold has made a profound rather than a 
wide impression. To a few, however, of each generation, 
he will continue to be a " voice oracular," — a poet with 
a purpose and a message. 

Arnold's Poetic Culture. — Obviously, the sources of 
Arnold's culture were classical. As one critic has tersely 
said, " He turned over his Greek models by day and by 
night." Here he found his ideal standards, and here he 
brought for comparison all questions that engrossed his 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

thoughts. Homer (he replied to an inquirer) and 
Epictetus (of mood congenial with his own) were props 
of his mind, as were Sophocles, '' who saw life steadily 
and saw it whole," and Marcus Aurelius, whom he called 
the purest of men. These like natures afforded him 
repose and consolation. Greek epic and dramatic poetry 
and Greek philosophy appealed profoundly to him. Of 
the Greek poets he wrote : "No other poets have lived so 
much by the imaginative reason; no other poets have 
made tlieir works so well balanced; no other poets have 
so well satisfied the thinking power; have so well satis- 
fied the religious sense." More than any other English 
poet he prized the qualities of measure, proportion, and 
restraint ; and to him lucidity, austerity, and high serious- 
ness, conspicuous elements of classic verse, were the sub- 
stance of true poetry. In explaining his own position as 
to his art, he says: "In the sincere endeavor to learn 
and practise, amid the bewildering confusioi^of our times, 
what is sound and true in poetic art, I seem to myself to 
find the only sure guidance, the only solid footing, among 
the ancients. They, at any rate, knew what they wanted 
in Art, and we do not. It is this uncertainty which is 
disheartening, and not hostile criticism." And again: 
" The radical difference between the poetic theory of the 
Greeks and our own is this : that with them, the poetical 
character of the action in itself, and the conduct of it 
was the first consideration; with us, attention is fixed 
mainly on the value of separate thoughts and images 
which occur in the treatment of an action. They regard 



ARNOLD THE POET xix 

the whole ; we regard the parts. We have poems which 
seem to exist merely for the sake of single lines and pas- 
sages, and not for the sake of producing any total im- 
pression. We have critics who seem to direct their 
attention merely to detached expressions, to the language 
about the action, not the action itself. I verily believe 
that the majority of them do not believe that there is 
such a thing as a total impression to be derived from a 
poem at all, or to be demanded from a poet. They will 
permit the poet to select any action he pleases, and to 
suffer that action to go as it will, provided he gratifies 
them with occasional bursts of fine writing, and with 
a show of isolated thoughts and images; that is, they 
permit him to leave their poetic sense un gratified, pro- 
vided that he gratifies their rhetorical sense and their 
curiosity." 

Arnold has illustrated, with remarkable success, his 
ideas of that unity which gratifies the poetical sense, 
and has approached very close to his Greek models in 
numerous instances ; most notably so in his great epic or 
narrative poem, Solirah and Bustum, which is dealt with 
elsewhere in this introduction. Perhaps we could not do 
better than to quote for our consideration at this time, a 
fine synthesis of Mr. Arthur Galton. He says : " In 
Matthew Arnold's style and in his manner, he seems to 
me to recall the great masters, and this in a striking and 
in an abiding way. ... To recall them at all is a rare 
gift, but to recall them naturally, and with no strained 
sense nor jarring note of imitation, is a gift so exceed- 



XX INTRODUCTION 

ingly rare that it is almost enough in itself to place a 
writer among the great masters ; to proclaim that he 
is one of them. To recall them at all is a rare gift, 
though not a unique gift; a few other modern poets 
recall them too; but with these, with every one of them, 
it is the exception when they resemble the great masters. 
They have their own styles, which abide with them ; it 
is only now and then, by a flash of genius, that they 
break through their own styles, and attain the one im- 
mortal style. Just the contrary of this is true of 
Matthew Arnold. It is his own, his usual, and his most 
natural style which recalls the great masters ; and only 
when he does not write like himself, does he cease to 
resemble them. . . . No man who attains to this great 
style can fail to have a distinguished function ; and Mat- 
thew Arnold, like Milton, will be ' a leaven and a power,' 
because he, too, has made the great style current in Eng- 
lish. With his desire for culture and for perfection, 
there is no destiny he would prefer to this, for which his 
nature, his training, and his sympathies, all prej^ared him. 
To convey the message of those ancients whom he loved 
so well, in that English tongue which he was taught by 
them to use so perfectly ; — to serve as an eternal protest 
against charlatanism and vulgarity ; — is exactly the mis- 
sion he would have chosen for himself. . . . The few 
writers of our language, therefore, who give us ^ an ideal 
of excellence, the most high and the most rare,' have an 
important function ; we should study their works continu- 
ally, and it should be a matter of passionate concern with 



ARNOLD THE POET XXI 

US, that the ^ideals/ that is, the definite and perfect 
models, should abide with us forever." The Greeks 
recognized three kinds of poetry, — Lyric, Dramatic, and 
Epic. Arnold tried all three. First, then, as a lyricist. 
Arnold as a Lyricist. — Lyric poetry is the artistic ex- 
pression of the poet's individual sentiments and emotions, 
hence it is subjective. The action is usually rapid, the 
verse musical, the time quick. Unlike the Epic and 
Drama, it has no preferred verse or meter, but leaves the 
poet free to choose or invent appropriate forms. In this 
species of verse Arnold was not wholly at ease. As has 
been said, one searches in vain through the whole course 
of his poetry for a blithe, musical, gay or serious, off- 
hand poem, the true lyric kind. The reason for this is 
soon discovered. Obviously, it lies in the fundamental 
qualities of the poet's mind and temperament. Though 
by no means lacking in emotional sensibility, Arnold was 
too intellectually self-conscious to be carried away by the 
impulsiveness common to the lyrical moods. With him 
the intellect was always master ; the emotions, subordi- 
nate. With the lyricist, the order is, in the main, at 
least, reversed. The poet throws off intellectual restraint, 
and " lets his illumined being o'errun " with music and 
song. This Arnold could not or would not do. Then, 
too, Arnold's lyrics are often at fault metrically. This, 
combined with frequent questionable rhymes, argues 
a not too discriminating poetical ear. He also lacked 
genius in inventing verse forms, and hence found him- 
self under the necessity of employing or adapting those 



xxii INTRODUCTION 

already in use. In this resi3ect lie was notably infe- 
rior to Tennyson, many of whose measures are wholly 
his own. Again, considerable portions of his lyric verse 
consist merely of prose, cut into lines of different length, 
in imitation of the unrhymed measures of the Greek 
poet, Pindar. The Bishop of Derry, commenting on these 
rhythmic novelties, likens them to the sound of a stick 
drawn by a city gamin sharply across the area railings, 
— a not inapt comparison. That they were not always 
successful, witness the following stanza from Merope: — 

" Thou confessest the prize 
In the rushing, blundering, uaad, 
Cloud-enveloped, obscure, 
Unapplauded, unsung 
Race of Calamity, mine ? " 

Surely this is but the baldest prose. At intervals, how- 
ever, Arnold was nobly lyrical, and strangely, too, at 
times, in those same uneven measures in which are 
found his most signal failures — the unrhymed Pindaric. 
Philomela written in this style is one of the most exqui- 
site bits of verse in the language. As one critic has put 
it, " It ought to be written in silver and bound in gold." 
In urbanity of phrase and in depth of genuine pathos it 
is unsurpassed and shows Arnold at his best. Rugby 
Chapel, The Youth of Nature, The Youth of Man, and 
A Dream are good examples of his longer efforts in this 
verse form. In the more common lyric measures, Arnold 
was, at times, equally successful. Saintsbury, comment- 
ing on Requiescat, says that the poet has " here achieved 



] 



ARNOLD THE POET XXlil 

the triple union of simplicity, pathos, and (in the best 
sense) elegance " ; and adds that there is not a false note 
in the poem. He also speaks enthusiastically of the 
"honey-dropping trochees'' of the New Sirens, and of 
the "chiselled and classic ]oerfection" of the lines of 
Eesignation. Herbert W. Paul, writing of Mycerimis, 
declares that no such verse has been written in England 
since Wordsworth's Laodamia ; and continues, " The 
poem abounds in single lines of haunting charm." 
Among his more successful longer lyrics are The Sick 
King in BokJiara, Switzerland, Faded Leaves, and Tris- 
tram and Iseult, and Epilogue to Lessing^s Laocoon, 
included in this volume. 

Arnold as a Dramatist. — The drama is imitated human 
action, and is intended to exhibit a picture of human life 
by means of dialogue, acting, and stage accessories. In 
nature, it partakes of both lyric and epic, thus uniting 
sentiment and action with narration. Characters live 
and act before us, and speak in our presence, the interest 
being kept up by constantly shifting situations tending 
toward some striking resulto As a dramatist, Arnold 
achieved no great success. Again the fundamental 
qualities of his mind stood in the way. An author so 
subjective, so absorbed in self-scrutiny and introspection 
as he, is seldom able to project himself into the minds of 
others to any considerable extent. His dramas are brill- 
iant with beautiful phrases, his pictures of landscapes 
and of nature in her various aspects approach perfection ; 
but in the main^ he fails to handle his plots in a dramatic 



XXIV INTRODUCTION 

manner and, as a result, does not secure the totality of 
impression so vital to the drama. Frequently, too, his 
characters are tedious, and in their dialogue manage to 
be provokingly unnatural or insipid. They also lack in 
individuality and independence in speech and action. 
Many of his situations, likewise, are at fault. For 
instance, one can scarcely conceive of such characters- 
as Ulysses and Circe playing the subordinate roles 
assigned to them in The Strayed Reveller. A true 
dramatist would hardly have committed so flagrant a 
blunder. Merope is written in imitation of the Greek 
tragedians. It has dignity of subject, nobility of senti- 
ment, and a classic brevity of style ; but it is frigid and 
artificial, and fails in the most essential function of 
drama — to stir the reader's emotions. Empedodes on 
Etna, a half-autobiographical drama, is in some respects 
a striking poem. It is replete with brilliant passages, 
and contains some of Arnold's best lyric verses and most 
beautiful nature pictures ; but the dialogue is colorless, 
the rhymes poor, the plot, such as it contains, but indif- 
ferently handled, and even Empedocles, the principal 
character, is frequently tedious and unnatural. Arnold's 
dramas show that his forte was not in character-drawing 
nor in dialogue. 

Arnold as a Writer of Epic and Elegy. — Epic poetry nar- 
rates in grand style the achievements of heroes — the 
poet telling the story as if present. It is simple in con- 
struction and uniform in meter, yet it admits of the dia- 
logue and the episode, and though not enforcing a moral, 



ARNOLD THE POET XXV 

it may hold one in solution. Elegiac poetry is plaintive 
in tone and expresses sorrow or lamentation. Both epic 
and elegy are inevitably serious in mood, and slow and 
stately in action. In these two forms of verse Arnold 
was at his best. Stockton pronounced Sohrab and 
Rustum the noblest poem in the English language. 
Another critic has said that " it is the nearest analogue 
in English to the rapidity of action, plainness of thought, 
plainness of diction, and nobleness of Homer." Combin- 
ing, as it does, classic purity of style with romantic ardor 
of feeling, it stands a direct exemplification of Arnold's 
poetic theories, as set forth in the preface of his volume 
of 1853. Especially is it successful in emphasizing his 
idea of unity of impression ; while the truth of its 
oriental color, the deep pathos of the situation, the fire 
and intensity of the action, the strong conception of 
character, and the full, solemn music of the verse, make 
it unquestionably the masterpiece of Arnold's longer 
poems, among which it is the largest in bulk and also 
the most ambitious in scheme. Balder Dead, a charac- 
teristic Arnoldian production, founded upon the Norse 
legend of Balder, Lok, and Hader, thongh not so great 
as Sohrab and Rustum, has much poetic worth and ranks 
high among its kind ; and Tristram and Iseidt, with its 
infinite tragedy, and The Sick King in Bokhara, gorgeous 
in oriental color, are rare examples of the lyrical epic. 
Tlie Forsaken Merman and Saint Brandan, which are 
dealt with elsewhere in this volume, are good examples 
of his shorter narrative poems. In TJiyrsis, the beautiful 



XXVI INTRODUCTION 

threnody in which he celebrated his dead friend, Clough, 
Arnold gave to the world one of its greatest elegies. One 
finds in this poem and its companion piece, The Scholar- 
Gipsy, the same nnity of classic form with romantic feel- 
ing present in Sohrah and Hustum. Both are crystal-clear 
without coldness, and restrained without loss of a full 
volume of power^ Mr. Saintsbury, writing of The Scholar- 
Gipsy, says : " It has everything — a sufficient scheme, a 
definite meaning and purpose, a sustained and adequate 
command of poetical presentation, and passages and 
phrases of the most exquisite beauty ; " and no less 
praise is due Thy r sis. Other of his elegiac poems 
are Heine's Grave, Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse, 
Stanzas in Memory of the Author of " Oberynann," Oher- 
mann Once More, Rugby Chapel, and Memorial Verses, the 
two last named being included in this volume. In such 
measures as are used in these poems, in the long, stately, 
swelling measures, whose graver movements accord with a 
serious and elevated purpose, Arnold w^as most at ease. 

Greek Spirit in Arnold. — But it is not alone in the fact 
that he selects classic subjects, and writes after the man- 
ner of the great masters, that Arnold's affinity with the 
Greeks is manifested. His poems in spirit, as in form, 
reflect the moods common to the ancient Hellenes. " One 
feels the (Greek) quality," writes (jeorge E. Woodberry, 
" not as a source, but as a presence. In Tennyson, Keats, 
and Shelley there was Greek influence, but in them the 
result was modern. In Arnold the antiquity remains — 
remains in mood, just as in Landor it remains in form. 



ARNOLD THE POET XXVil 

The Greek twilight broods over all his poetry. It is 
pagan in philosophic spirit, not Attic, but of later and 
stoical time ; with the patience, endurance, suffering^ not 
in the Christian types, but as they now seem to a post- 
Christian imagination, looking back to the past." Even 
when his poems treat of modern or romantic subjects, one 
is impressed with the feeling that he presents them with 
the same quality of imagination as would the Greek 
masters themselves : and in the same form. 

Arnold's Attitude toward Nature. — In his attitude toward 
Nature Arnold is often compared to Wordsworth. A 
close study, however, reveals a wide difference, both in 
the way Nature appealed to them and in their mood in 
her presence. To Arnold she offered a temporary refuge 
from the doubts and distractions of our modern life, — a 
soothing, consoling, uplifting power ; to Wordsworth she 
was an inspiration, — a presence that disturbed hfm " with 
the joy of elevated thoughts." Conscious of the help he 
found in her association, Arnold urged all men to follow 
Nature's example ; to possess their souls in quietude, de- 
spite the storm and turmoil without. Pancoast says : 
" He delights in leading us to contemplate the infinite 
calm of Nature, beside which man's transitory woes are 
reduced to a mere fretful insignificance. All the beauti- 
ful poem of Tristram and Iseult is built upon the skilful 
alternation of two themes. We pass from the feverish, 
wasting, and ephemeral struggle of human passions and 
desire, into an atmosphere that shames its heat and fume 
by an immemorial coolness and repose ; " and the same 



xxvill INTRODUCTION 

comparison constitutes the theme for a considerable por- 
tion of his poetical work. In his method of approaching 
Nature, Arnold also differed widely from Wordsworth, in 
that he saw with the outward eye, that is objectively; 
while Wordsworth saw rather with the inward eye, or 
subjectively. In this Arnold is essentially Greek and 
more Tennysonian than Wordsworthian. Many of his 
poems, in full or in part, are mere nature pictures, and 
are artistic in the extreme. The pictures of the Oxus 
stream at the close of Sohrah and Rustu7n; the English 
garden in Thyrsis; and the hunter on the arras, in Tris- 
tram and Iseult, are all notable examples. This pictorial 
method Wordsworth seldom used. In spirit, too, the 
poets differed widely. To Wordsworth, Nature was, first 
of all, the abiding place of God ; but Arnold " finds in 
the wood and field no streaming forth of beauty and wis- 
dom from the fountainhead of beauty," no habitancy of 
Nature's God. 

Arnold's Attitude toward Life. — Arnold's attitude toward 
life has been dwelt upon in the appreciations under the 
biographical sketch in this volume and need only briefly 
be summed up here. To him, human life in its higher 
developments presented itself as a stern and strenuous 
affair ; but he never faltered nor sought to escape from 
his share of the burden. On the contrary, the prevailing 
note of his poetry is self-reliance; help must come from 
the soul itself, for 

" The fountains of life are all within." 



ARNOLD THE CRITIC XXlX 

He preaches fortitude and courage in the face of the 
mysterious and the inevitable — a courage, indeed, for- 
lorn and pathetic in the eyes of many — and he con- 
stantly takes refuge from the choking cares of life, in a 
kind of stoical resignation. As a reformer, his function 
was especially to stir people up, to make them dissatisfied 
with themselves and their institutions, and to force them 
to think, to become individual. Everywhere in his 
works one is confronted by his unvarying insistence 
upon the supremacy of conduct and duty. The modern 
tendency to drift away from the old, established religious 
faith was a matter of serious thought to him and led him 
to give to the world a rational creed that would satisfy 
the sceptics and attract the indifferent. We cannot do 
better than quote for our closing thought the following 
pregnant lines from the author's sonnet entitled The 
Better Part : — 

" Hath man no second life ? Pitch this one high I 
Sits there no judge in Heaven, our sin to see ? 
More strictly^ then, the iyiward judge obey ! 
Was Christ a man like us ? Ah I let «s try 
If we then, too, can he such men as he ! " 



ARNOLD THE CRITIC 

The following extracts on Arnold as a critic are quoted 
from well-known authorities. 

" Arnold's prose has little trace of the wistful melan- 
choly of his verse. It is almost always urbane, viva- 



XXX INTRODUCTION 

ciouSj light-hearted. The classical bent of his mind 
shows itself here, unmixed with the inheritance of ro- 
mantic feeling which colors his poetry. Not only is his 
prose classical in quality, by virtue of its restraint, of 
its definite aim, and of the dry white light of intellect 
which suffuses it; but the doctrine- which he spent his 
life in preaching is based-upon a classical ideal, the ideal 
of symmetry, wholeness, or, as he daringly called it, per- 
fection. . . . Wherever, in religion, politics, education, 
or literature, he saw his countrymen under the domina- 
tion of narrow ideals, he came speaking the mystic word 
of deliverance, ' Culture.' Culture, acquaintance with 
the best which has been thought and done in the world, 
is his panacea for all ills. ... In almost all of his 
prose writing he attacks some form of 'Philistinism,' 
by which word he characterized the narrow-mindedness 
and self-satisfaction of the British middle class. 

" Arnold's tone is admirably fitted to the jjeculiar task 
he had to perform. ... In Culture and Anarchy and 
many successive works, he made his plea for the gospel 
of ideas with urbanity and playful grace, as befitted the 
Hellenic spirit, bringing ' sweetness and light ' into the 
dark places of British prejudice. Sometimes, as in Lit- 
eratare and Dogma, where he x^leads for a more liberal 
and literary reading of the Bible, his manner is quiet, 
suave, and gently persuasive. At other times, as in 
Friendship's Garland, he shoots the arrows of his sar- 
casm into the ranks of the Philistines with a delicate 
raillery and scorn, all the more exasperating to his foes 



ARNOLD THE CRITIC xxxi 

because it is veiled by a mock humility, and is scrupu- 
lously polite. 

" Of Arnold's literary criticism, the most notable single 
piece is the famous essay On Translating Homer, which 
deserves careful study for the enlightenment it offers con- 
cerning many of the fundamental questions of style. The 
essays on Wordsworth and on Byron from Essays in Criti- 
cism, and that on Emerson, from Discourses in America, 
furnish good examples of Arnold's charm of manner and 
weight of matter in this province. 

" The total impression which Arnold makes in his prose 
may be described as that of a spiritual man-of-the-world. 
In comparison with Carlyle, Ruskin, and Newman, he is 
worldly. For the romantic passion and mystic vision of 
these men he substitutes an ideal of balanced cultivation, 
the ideal of the trained, sympathetic, cosmopolitan gentle- 
man. He marks a return to the conventions of life after 
the storm and stress of the romantic age. Yet in his 
own way he also was a prophet and a preacher, striving 
whole-heartedly to release his countrymen from bondage 
to mean things, and pointing their gaze to that symmetry 
and balance of character which has seemed to many noble 
minds the true goal of human endeavor." — Moody and 
LovETT, A History of English Literature. 

"As a literary critic, his taste, his temper, his judg- 
ment were pretty nearly infallible. He combined a loyal 
and reasonable submission to literary authority, with a 
free and even daring use of private judgment. His ad- 
miration for the acknowledged masters of human utter- 



xxxii INTRODUCTION 

ance — Homer, Sophocles, Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe — 
was geniiine and enthusiastic, and incomparably better 
informed than that of some more conventional critics. 
Yet this cordial submission to recognized authority, this 
honest loyalty to established reputation, did not blind 
him to defects ; did not seduce him into indiscriminating 
praise ; did not deter him from exposing the tendency to 
verbiage in Burke and Jeremy Taylor, the excess blank- 
ness of much of Wordsworth's blank verse, the under- 
current of mediocrity in Macaulay, the absurdities of 
Mr. Ruskin's etymology. And as in great matters, so in 
small. Whatever literary production was brought under 
Matthew Arnold's notice, his judgment was clear, sym- 
pathetic, and independent. He had the readiest appreci- 
ation of true excellence, a quick intolerance of turgidity 
and inflation — of what he called endeavors to render 
platitude endurable by making it pompous, and lively 
horror of affectation and unreality." — Mr. George 

EUSSELL. 

'•' In his work as literary critic Arnold has occupied a 
high place among the foremost prose writers of the time. 
His style is in marked contrast to the dithyrambic elo- 
quence of Carlyle, or to Ruskin's pure and radiant color- 
ing. It is a quiet style, restrained, clear, discriminating, 
incisive, with little glow of ardor or passion. Notwith- 
standing its scrupulous assumption of urbanity, it is 
often a merciless style, indescribably irritating to an 
opponent by its undercurrent of sarcastic humor, and 
its calm air of assured superiority. By his insistence 



ARNOLD THE CRITIC xxxiii 

on a high standard of technical excellence, and by his 
admirable presentation of certain principles of literary 
judgment, Arnold performed a great work for literature. 
On the other hand, we miss here, as in his poetry, the 
human element, the comprehensive sympathy that we 
recognize in the criticism of Carlyle. Yet Carlyle could 
not have written the essay On Translating Homer, with 
all its scholarly discrimination in style and technique, 
any more than Arnold could have produced Carlyle's 
large-hearted essay on Burns. Arnold's varied energy 
and highly trained intelligence have been felt in many 
different fields. He has won a peculiar and honorable 
place in the poetry of the century ; he has excelled as 
literary critic, he has labored in the cause of education, 
and finally, in his Culture and Aiiarchy, he has set forth 
his scheme of social reform, and in certain later books 
has made his contribution to contemporary thought." — 
Pancoast, Introduction to English Literature. 



XXXI V INTROD UC TION 



CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF ARNOLD'S WORKS 

1840. Alaric at Rome. (Prize poem at Rugby.) 
1843. Cromwell. (Prize poem at Oxford.) 
1849. The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems. 

Mycerinus. 

The Strayed Reveller. 

Fragment of an Antigone. 

The Sick King in Bokhara. 

Religious Isolation. 

To my Friends. 

A Modern Sappho. 

The New Sirens. 

The Voice. 

To Fausta. 

Stagy rus. 

To a Gipsy Child. 

The Hayswater Boat. 

The Forsaken Merman. 

The World and the Quietist. 

In Utrumque Paratus. 

Resignation. 
Sonnets. 

Quiet Work. 

To a Friend. 

Shakespeare. 

To the Duke of Wellington. 

Written in Butler's Sermons. 

Written in Emerson's Essays. 

To an Independent Preacher. 

To George Cruikshank. 

To a Republican Friend. 



CHRONOLOGICAL LIST XXXV 

1852. Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems. 
Empedocles on Etna. 
The River. 
Excuse. 
Indifference. 
Too Late. 
On the Rhine. 
Longing. 
The Lake. 
Parting. 
Absence. 

Destiny. (Not reprinted.) 
To Marguerite. 
Human Life. 
Despondency. 

Youth's Agitations — A Sonnet. 
Self-Deception. 
Lines written by a Death-bed. (Afterward, Youth 

and Calm.) 
Tristram and Iseult. 
Memorial Verses. (Previously published in Eraser's 

Magazine. ) 
Courage. (Not reprinted.) 
Self-Dependence. 
A Summer Night. 
The Buried Life. 
A Farewell. 

Stanzas in Memory of the Author of Obermann. 
Consolation, 

Lines written in Kensington Gardens. 
The World's Triumphs — A Sonnet. 
The Second Best. 
Revolutions. 



XXXVl INTRODUCTION 

The Youth of Nature. 
The Youth of Man. 
Morality. 
Progress. 
The Future. 

1853. Poems. 

Sohrab and Rustum. 

Cadmus and Harmonia. (A fragment of Empedocles 

on Etna.) 
Philomela. 
Thekla's Answer. 
The Church of Brou. 
The Neckan. 
Switzerland. 

Richmond Hill. (A fragment of The Youth of Man.) 
Requiescat. 
The Scholar-Gipsy. 

Stanzas in Memory of the Late Edward Quillman. 
Power of Youth. (A fragment of The Youth of Man.) 

1854. A Farewell. 

1855. Poems. 

Balder Dead 
Separation. 
1858. Merope : A Tragedy. 
1867. New Poems.' 

Persistency of Poetry. 

Saint Brandan. (Fraser^s Magazine^ July, 1860.) 

Sonnets. 

A Picture of Newstead. 

Rachel. (Three Sonnets.) 

East London. 

West London. 



CHRONOLOGICAL LIST XXX v 11 

Anti-Desperation. 

Immorality. 

Worldly Place. 

The Divinity. 

The Good Shepherd with the Kid. 

Austerity of Poetry. 

East and West. 

Monica's Last Prayer. 
Calais Sands. 
Dover Beach. 
The Terrace at Berne. 
Stanzas composed at Carnse. 

A Southern Night. (Previously published in the Vic- 
toria Regia, 1861.) 
Fragment of Chorus of a " Dejaneira.'* 
Palladium. 

Early Death and Fame. 
Growing Old. 
The Progress of Poesy. 
A Nameless Epitaph. 
The Last Word. 
A Wish. 

A Caution to Poets. 
Pis-Aller. 

Epilogue to Lessing's Laocoon. 
Bacchanalia. 
Rugby Chapel. 
Heine's Grave. 

Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse. 
1860. The Lord's Messengers. (Cornhill Magazine, July.) 
1866. Thyrsis. (3IacmiUan's Magazine, April.) 
1868. Obermann Once More. 



xxxviu INTRODUCTION 

1873. New Rome. {CornhiH 3Iagazine, Jnne.) 
1877. Haworth Churchyard with Epilogue. (Fraser^s Magazine^ 
May.) 

1881. Geist's Grave. {Fortnightly Bevieio, January.) 

1882. Westminster Abbey. (Nineteenth Century Magazine, 

January. ) 
Poor Matthais. (MacmiUan^s Magazine, December.) 

1887. Horatian Echo. (The Century Guild Hobby Horse, July.) 
Kaiser Dead. (Fortnightly Review, July.) 

PROSE WORKS 

1859. England and the Italian Question. 
1861. Popular Education in France. 
On Translating Homer. 

1864. A French Eton. 

1865. Essays in Criticism. 

1867. On Study of Celtic Literature. 

1868. Schools and Universities on the Continent. 

1869. Culture and Anarchy. 

1870. St. Paul and Protestantism. 

1871. Friendship's Garland. 

1873. Literature and Dogma. 

1874. Higher Schools and Universities in Germany. 

1875. God and the Bible. 

1877. Last Essays on Church and Religion. 

1879. Mixed Essays. 

1882. Irish Essays. 

1885. Discourses in America. 

1888. Essays in Criticism, Second Series. 

Special Report on Elementary Education Abroad. 
Civilization in the United States. 



CONTEMPORARY AUTHORS xxxix 



CONTEMPOEAKY AUTHOES 

Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). 
Thomas B. Macaulay (1800-1859). 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861). 
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892). 
Charles R. Darwin (1809-1882). 
William M. Thackeray (1811-1863). 
Robert Browning (1812-1889). 
Charles Dickens (1812-1870). 
George Eliot (1819-1880). 
John Ruskin (1819-1900). 
Herbert Spencer (1820-1903). 

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878). 
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882). 
Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864). 
John G. Whittier (1807-1892). 
Henry W. Longfellow (1807-1882). 
Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894). 
James Russell Lowell (1819-1891). 



xl INTRODUCTION 



BIBLIOGEAPHY 

The Poetical Works of Matthew Arnold (The Macmillan Company, 
one volume). 

The English Poets, Vol. I, by T. H. Ward. 

Matthew Arnold and the Spirit of the Age, edited by the English 
Club of Sewanee, Tennessee. 

Matthevj Arnold, by Sir J. G. Fitch. 

Tennyson, Buskin, and Other Literary Estimates, by Frederic 
Harrison. 

Studies in Interpretation, by W. H. Hudson. 

Corrected Impressions ofi 3Iatthew Arnold, by G. E. B. Saintsbury. 

Matthew Arnold, by Herbert W. Paul. 

Matthew Arnold, by G. E. B. Saintsbury. 

ArnokVs Letters, collected and arranged by G. W. E, Russell. 

Tlie Bibliography of 3Iatthew Arnold, edited by T. B. Smart. 

Mattheio Arnold, by Andrew Lang, in Century Magazine, 1881- 
1882, p. 849. 

The Poetry of Matthew Arnold, by R. H. Hutton, in Essays Theo- 
logical and Literally, Vol. II. 

Beligion and Culture, by John Shairp. 

Arnold, in Victorian Poets, by Stedman. 

Matthew Arnold, New Poems, in Essays and Studies, by A. C. 
Swinburne. 

Arnold, in Our Living Poets, by Formau, 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 
AND OTHER POEMS 



s 



/ 



NARRATIVE POEMS 

SOHEAB AND EUSTUM° 

AN EPISODE 

And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,° 
And the fog rose out of the Oxus° stream. 
But all the Tartar camp° along the stream 
Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep ; 
Sohrab alone, he slept not ; all night long 5 

He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed ; 
. But when the grey dawn stole into his tent, 
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his swordj 
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, 
.\nd went abroad into the cold wet fog, 10 

Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's° tent. 
^.^ Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood 
^^Clusteriui? like bee-hives on the low flat strand 



Of Oxus, where the summer-floods o'erflow 



•■* 



When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere°; 15 

Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand, 
And to a hillock came, a little back 
From the stream's brink — the spot where first a boat, 
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. 
The men of former times had crown'd the top 20 

With a clay fort ; but that was f all'n, and now 
B X.'" 



2 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

The Tartars built tliere Peran-Wisa's tent, 

A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. • 

And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood 

Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, 25 

And found the old man sleeping on his bed 

Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. 

And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 

Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep; 

And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : — 30 

" Who art thou ? for it is not yet clear dawn. 
Speak ! is there news, or any night alarm ? '' 

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and saicT:'^"'^'^ 

" Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ! it is I. ' 

The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 35 

Sleep ; but I sleep not ; all night long I lie 

Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. 

For so did King Afrasiab° bid me seek 

Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son. 

In Samarcand,° before the army march'd ; 40 

And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 

Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan° first 

I came among the Tartars and bore arms, 

I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown. 

At my boy's years,° the courage of a man. 45 

This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on 

The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, 

And beat the Persians back on every field, / 

I seek one man, one man, and one alone — 

Rustum, my father ; who I hoped should greet, 50 

Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, 

His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 

So I long hoped, but him I never find. 

Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. 



SOHRAB AkD RUSTUM 3 

Let the two armies rest to-day ; but I 55 

Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 

To meet me, man to man ; if I prevail, 

Rustum will surely hear it ; if I fall — 

Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 

Dim is the rumour'^f a common fight,° 60 /. 

Where host meets host, and many nanie^^jixa-Sunk^t^'' '^ *' 

But of a single combat fani£_.ap^aks^ clear/' v^'j. .:^ c • 

He spoke ; and Peran-Wisa took the hand^ 
Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said : — 

" Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine ! 65 

Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, 
And share the battle's common chance° with us 
Who love thee, but must press for ever first, 
In single fight incurring single risk, 

To find a father thou hast never seen° ? 70 

That were far best, my son, to stay with us 
Unmurmuring ; in our tents, while it is war. 
And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. 
But, if this one desire indeed rules all. 
To seek out Rustum — seek him not through fight! 75 
Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, 
Sohrab, carry an unwounded son ! 
But far hence seek him, for he is not here. 
For now it is not as when I was young. 
When Rustum was in front of every fray ; 80 

But now he keeps apart, and sits at home. 
In Seistan,° with Zal, his father old. 
A¥hether that his own mighty strength at last 
Feels the abhorr'd approaches of old age, 
Or in some quarreF with the Persian King.° 85 

There go° ! — Thou wilt not ? Yet my heart forebodes 
Danger or death awaits thee on this. field. 



4 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Fain would I know thee safe and well, tliougli lost 

To us ; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace 

To seek thy father, not seek single fights 90 

In vain ; — but who can keep the lion's cub 

From ravening, and who govern Rustmn's son ? 

Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires." 

So said he, and dropp'd Sohrab's hand, and left 
His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay ; 95 

And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He pass'd, and tied his sandals on his feet, 
And threw a white cloak round him, and he took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword° ; 
And on his head he set his sheep-skin cap, 100 

Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara-Kul° ; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and call'd 
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 

The sun by this had risen, and clear'd the fog 
From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. 105 

And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed 
Into the open plain ; so Haman° bade — 
Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa ruled 
The host, and still was in his lusty prime. 
From their black tents, long files of horse, they stream'd ; 
As when some grey November morn the files, m 

In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes 
Stream over Casbin° and the southern slopes 
Of Elburz,° from the Aralian estuaries, ^i • ./>•-' v ^^ 

Or some frore° Caspian reed-bed, southward bound 115 
For the warm Persian sea-board — so they stream'd. 
The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard, 
First, with black sheep-skin caps and with long spears ; 
Large men, large steeds; who from Bokhara" com§ 
And Khiva,° and ferment the milk of mares.° 120 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 5 

Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns° of the south, 
Tlie Tukas,° and the lances of Salore, 
''And those from Attruck° and the Caspian sands ; 
Light men and on light steeds, who only drink 
The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 125 

And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came 
From far, and a more doubtful service own'd ; 
The Tartars of Ferghana,° from the banks 
Of the Jaxartes,° men with scanty beards 
And close-set skull-caps ; and those wilder hordes 130 
Who roam o'er Kipchak° and the northern waste, 
Kalmucks° and unkempt Kuzzaks,° tribes who stray 
Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes,° 
Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere ; 
These all filed out from camp mto the plain. 135 

And on the other side the Persians f orm'd ; — 
First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seem'd, 
The Ilyats of Khorassan° ; and behind. 
The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, 
Marshall'd battalions bright in burnish'd steel. 140 

But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, 
Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front. 
And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. 
And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw 
Tha,t Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, 145 

He took his spear, and to the front he came, 
And check'd his ranks, and fix'd° them where they stood. 
And the old Tartar came upon the sand 
Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said : — 

"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear! — ^-130 
Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man." 



6 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

As, in the country, on a morn in June, ^^ 

When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 155^ 

A sliiver runs tlirough the deep corn° for joy — 
So, when they lieard w^hat Peran-Wisa said, 
A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they loved. 

But as a tro(jp of pedlars, from Cabool,° 160 

Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus,° 
That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow ; 
Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass 
Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow. 
Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves 165 
Slake their parch'd throats with sugar'd mulberries — 
In single file they move, and stop their breath. 
For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging siiows — 
So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. 

And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 170 

To counsel; Gudurz and Zoarrah came, 
And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian host 73^ 

Second, and was the uncle of the King° ; ^ 

These came and counsell'd, and then Gudurz said :V- 

*' Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, ^ 175 
Yet champion have we none to match this youth. <> 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart.° 
But Eustum came last night ; aloof he sits° 
And sullen, and has pitch'd his tents apart. 
Him will I seek, and carry to his ear 180 

The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name. 
Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up." 

So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth and cried : — 
'• Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said ! 185 

Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 7 

He spake : and Peraii-Wisa turn'd, and strode 

Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. 

But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, 

And cross'd the camp which hiy behind, and reach'd, 190 

Out on the sands beyond it, Eustum's tents. 

Of scarlet clotli they were, and glittering gay, 

Just pitch'd ; the high pavilion in the midst 

Was Rustum's, and his men lay camp'd around. 

And Gudurz enter'd Eustum's tent, and found 195 

Eustum ; his morning meal was done, but still 

The table stood before him, charged with food — 

A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread. 

And dark green melons ; and there Eustum sate° 

Listless, and held a falcon° on his wrist, 200 

And play'd with it ; but Gudurz came and stood 

Before him ; and he look'd, and saw him stand. 

And with a cry sprang up and dropp'd the bird, 

And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said : — 

" Welcome ! these eyes could see no better sight. 205 
What news ? but sit down hrst, and eat and drink." 

But Gudurz stood in the tent-door, and said : — 
" Not now ! a time will come to eat and drink, 
But not to-day ; to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze ; 210 

For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion — and thou know'st his name — 
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 
Eustum, like thy might is this young man's ! 215 

He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart ; 
And he is young, and Iran's° chiefs are old, 
Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Eustum, or we lose ! '^ 



8 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

He spoke ; but Eustum answer'd with a smile : — 220 
^^ Go to° ! if Iran's chiefs are okl, then I 
Am older ; if the young are weak, the King 
Errs strangely ; for the King, for Kai Khosroo,° 
Himself is young, and honours younger men, 
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 225 

Eustum he loves no more, but loves the young — 
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame ? 
For would that I myself had such a son, 
And not that one slight helpless girl" I have — 230 

A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal,° 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex. 
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, 
And he has none to guard his weak old age. 235 

There would I go, and hang my armour up. 
And with my great name fence that weak old man. 
And spend the goodly treasures 1 have got. 
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame. 
And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 240 

And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more." 

He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made reply: — 
" What then, Eustum, will men say to this. 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks 
Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, 245 

Hidest thy face ? Take heed lest men should say : 
Like some old miser, Hustum hoards his fame, 
And shujis to peril it 2vith younger me7i."° 

And, greatly moved, then Eustum made reply : — 
" Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words ? 250 
Thou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM i* 

Valiant or craven, young or old, to me ? 

Are not they mortal, am not I myself ? 

But who for men of nought would do great deeds ? 255 

Come, thou shalt see how Kustum hoards his fame ! 

But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms° ; 

Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd 

In single fight with any mortal man." 

He spoke, and frown'd ; and Gudurz turn'd, and ran 260 
Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy — 
Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. 
But Rustum strode to his tent-door, and call'd 
His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, 
And clad himself in steel ; the arms he chose 265 

Were plain, and on his shield was no device,® 
Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold, 
And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume 
Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume. 
So arm'd, he issued forth ; and Ruksh, his horse, 270 

Follow'd him like a faithful hound at heel — 
Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth. 
The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find 

A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, 275 

And rear'd him ; a bright bay, with lofty crest, 
Dight° with a saddle-cloth of broider'd green 
Crusted with gold, and on the ground were worked 
All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. 
So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'd 280 

The camp, and to the Persian host appear'd. 
And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts 
Hail'd ; but the Tartars knew not who he was. 
And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 
Of his pale Avife who waits and weeps on sliore, 285 



±0 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

By sandy Bahrein, ° in the Persian Gulf, 

Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, 

Having made up his tale° of precious pearls, 

Bejoins her in their hut upon the sands — 

So dear to the pale Persians Bustuni came. 290 

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, 
And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and came. 
And as afield the reapers cut a swath 
Down through the middle of a rich man's corn. 
And on each side are squares of standing corn,' 295 

And in the midst a stubble, short and bare — 
So on each side were squares of men, w4th spears 
Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. 
And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 300 

Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came. 

As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, 
Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge 
Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire — 
At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, 305 

When the frost flowers° the whiten'd window-panes — 
And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts 
Of that poor drudge may be ; so Rustum eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar 
Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 310 

All the most valiant chiefs ; long he perused° 
His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. 
For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; 
Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight. 
Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 315 

Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, 
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound — 
So slender Sohrab seem'd;° so softly i?ear'd. 



SOIIRAB AND UUSTUM - 11 

And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul 

As he beheld him coming ; and he stood, 320 

And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said : — 

"0 thou young man, the air of Heaven is soft, 
And warm, and pleasant ; but the grave is cold ! 
Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. 
Behold me ! I am vast,° and clad in iron, 325 

And tried° ; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe — 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. ° 
Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death ? 
Be governor ! quit the Tartar host, and come 330 

To Iran, and be as my son to me. 
And fight beneath my banner till I die ! 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thou." 

So he spake, mildly ; Sohrab heard his voice, 
The mighty voice of Eustum^ and he saw 335 

His giant figure planted on the sand. 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Hath builded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers ; and he saw that head, 
Streak'd with its first grey hairs ; — hope filled his soul, 340 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees. 
And clasp'd his hand within his own, and said : — 

" 0, by thy father's head° ! by thine own soul ! 
Art thou not Bustum° ? speak ! art thou not he ? " 

But Eustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, 345 

And turn'd away, and spake to his own soul : — 

" Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean ! 
Palse, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks. 
And hide it not, but say : liastum is here ! 350 

He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, 



12 SELECTION'S FROM ARNOLD 

But he will find some pretext not to fight, 

And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts 

A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. 

And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, 355 

In Samarcand, he will arise and cry : 

' I challenged once, when the two armies camp'd 

Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 

To cope with me in single fight ; but they 

Shrank, only Rustum dared ; then he and I 360 

Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away/ 

So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud ; 

Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me.'' 

And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud : — 
" Rise ! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 365 

Of Ru-tum ? I am here, whom thou hast call'd 
By challenge forth ; make good thy vaunt,° or yield ! 
Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight ? 
Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee ! 
For well I know, that did great Rustum stand 370 

Before thy face this day, and were reveal'd, 
There would be then no talk of fighting more. 
But being what I am, I tell thee this — 
Do thou record it in thine inmost soul : 
Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, 375 

Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds 
Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, 
Oxus in summer wash them all away." 

He spoke ; and Sohrab answer'd, on his feet : — 
^^ Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright me so° ! 3^50 
I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand 
Here on this field, there were no fighting then. 
But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 13 

Begin ! thou art more vast, more dread than I, 385 

And thou art proved, I know, and I am young — 

But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven. 

And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure 

Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 

For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 390 

Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, 

AVliich hangs uncertain to which side to fall. 

And whether it will heave us up to land, 

Or whether it will roll us out to sea, 

Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, 395 

We know not, and no search will make us know ; 

Only the event will teach us in its hour." 

He spoke, and Rustum answer'd not, but hurl'd 
His spear ; down from the shoulder, down it came, 
^ s on some partridge in the corn a hawk,^ " 400 

'Jiiat long has tower'd° in the airy clouds,' 
Drops like a plummet ; Sohrab saw it come, 
And sprang aside, quick as a flasli ; the spear 
Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand, 
Which it sent flying wide ; — then Sohrab threw 405 

In turn, and full struck° Rustum's shiekl; sharp rang, 
The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear. 
And Rustum seized his club, which none but he 
Could wield ; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge, 
Still rough — like those which men in treeless plains 410 
To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, 
Hyphasis° or Hydaspes,° when, high u^ 
By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time 
Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack,° 
And strewn the channels with torn boughs — so huge 475 
The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck 
One stroke ; but again Sohrab sprang aside, 



14 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Lithe as the glancing° snake, and the club came 
Thundering to earth, and leapt from Ilustum's hand. 
And Riistum follow'd his own blow, and fell 420 

To his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd the sand ; 
And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword, 
And pierced the mighty Eustum while he lay 
Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand ; 
But he look'd on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, 425 
But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said : — 

" Thou strik'st too hard ! that club of thine will float 
Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones. 
But rise, and be not wroth ! not wroth am I ; 
No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. 430 

Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum ; be it so ! 
Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul ? 
Boy as I am, I have seen battles too — 
Have waded foremost in their bloody waves. 
And heard their hollcKw° i'oar of dying men ; 435 

But never was my heart thus touch'd before. 
Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart ? 
thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven ! 
Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, 
And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 440 

And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, 
And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. 
There are enough foes in the Persian host, 
Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; 
Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 445 

Mayst fight ; fight them, when they confront thy spear ! 
But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me ! " 

He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, 
And stood erect, trembling with rage ; his club 
He left to lie, but had regain'd his spear, 450 



SOHRAB AND BUSTUM 15 

Whose fiery point now in his mail'd riglit-hand 

Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star,° .. 

The baleful sign of fevers ; dust had soil'd 

His stately crest,° and dimm'd his glittering arms. 

His breast heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice 455 

Was choked with rage; at last these words broke way: — 

" Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands ! 
Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words ! 
Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more ! 
Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 460 

W^ith Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; 
But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and wdth me, who make no play 
Of w^ar; I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine ! 465 

Remember all thy valour° ; try thy feints 
And cunning ! all the pity I had is gone ; 
Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles.° '' 

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled° at his taunts, 470 

And he too drew his sword ; at once they rush'd 
Together, as two eagles on one prey 
Come rushing down together from the clouds. 
One from the east, one from the w^est ; their shields 
Dasli'd with a clang together, and a din 475 

Bose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters 
Make often in the forest's heart at morn. 
Of hewing axes, crashing trees — such blows 
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd. 
And you would say that sun and stars took part 480 

In that unnatural^ conflict ; for a cloud° 
Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the sun 
Over the fighters' heads ; and a wind rose 



16 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, 

And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair. 485 

In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone ; 

For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 

Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, 

And the sun sparkled° on the Oxus stream. 

But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes ,yo 

And labouring breath ; first Rustum struck the shield 

Which Sohrab held stiff out ; the steel-spiked spear 

Kent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin, 

And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry groan. 

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm,° 495 

Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the crest 

He shore° away, and that proud horsehair plume, 

Never till now defiled, sank to the dust ; 

And Rustum bow'd his head° ; but then the gloom 

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 500 

And lightnings rent the cloud ; and Ruksh, the horse, 

Who stood at hand, ntter'd a dreadful cry ; — 

No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 

Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day 

Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, 505. 

And comes at night to die upon the sand. 

The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, 

And Oxus curdled° as it cross'd his stream. 

But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on. 

And struck again ; and again Rustum bow'd 510 

His head ; but this time all the blade, like glass, 

Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm. 

And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. 

Then Rustum raised his head ; his dreadful eyes 

Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, 515 

And shouted : Riistum° ! — Sohrab heard that shout, 



SOHUAB AJS'D hustum 17 

And shrank amazed ; back lie recoil'd one step, 

And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form ; 

And then he stood bewilder'd; and he dropp'd 

His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. 520 

He reel'd, and staggering back, sank to the ground ; 

And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, 

And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all 

The cloud ; and the two armies saw the pair — 

Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 525 

And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. 

Then, with a bitter smile,° Rustum began : — 
^' Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill 
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, 
And bear thy "trophies to Afrasiab's tent. 530 

Or else that the great Rustum would come down 
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 
And then all the Tartar host would praise 
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, 535 

To glad° thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man ! 
Dearer to the red jackals° shalt thou be 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." 

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied : — 540 

" Unknown thou art ; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man ! 
No ! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For were I match'd with ten such men as thee, 
And I were that which till to-day I was, 545 

They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But that beloved name unnerved my arm — 
That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 
Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield 



18 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Fall ; and thy spear transfix'd. an unarm'd foe. 550 

And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. 

But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear 

The mighty Eustum shall avenge my death ! 

My father, whom I seek through all the world, 

He shall avenge my death, and punish thee! " 555 

As when some hunter° in the spring hath found 
A breeding eagle sitting on her nest. 
Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake, 
And pierced her with an arrow as she rose, 
And foUow'd her to find her where she fell 560 

Far off; — anon her mate comes winging back 
From hunting, and a great way off descries 
His huddling young left sole° ; at that, he checks 
His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 565 

Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she 
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
In some far stony gorge out of his ken, 
A heap of fluttering feathers — never more 
Shall the lake glass° her, flying over it ; 570 

Never the black and dripping precipices 
Echo her stormy scream as she sails by — ^^ 
^s that poor bird flies home, nor knows his lossS j^ . 
'^o Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood J^ r",^ / / 
Over his dying son, and knew him not. ^"" 575a; 

But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said: — f 

" What prate is this of fathers and revenge ? 
The mighty Eustum never had a son." 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : — 
" Ah yes, he had ! and that lost son am I. 580 

Surely the news will one day reach his ear, 
Eeach Eustum, where he sits, and tarries long, 



\ii 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 1:9 

Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here ; 

And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap 

To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 585 

Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son ! 

What will that grief, what will that vengeance be ? 

Oh, could I live, till I that grief had seen ! 

Yet him I pity not so much, but her, 

My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 590 

With that old king, her father, who grows grey 

With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. 

Her most I pity, wdio no more will see 

Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp. 

With spoils and honour, when the war is done. 595 

But a dai-k rumour will be bruited up,° 

From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear ; 

And then will that defenceless woman learn 

That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, 

But that in battle with a nameless foe, 600 

By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 

He spoke ; and as he ceased, he wept aloud, 
Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 
He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plunged in thought. 
Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605 

Who spoke, although he call'd back names he knew; 
For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 
Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, 
Had been a puny girl, no boy at all — 
So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 610 

Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms — 
And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took, 
By a false boast, the style° of Rustum's son ; 
Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 
So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plunged in thought 615 



20 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 

Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore 

At the full moon ; tears gather'd in his eyes ; 

For he remember'd his own early youth, 

And all its bounding rapture ; as, at dawn, 620 

The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries 

A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, p; v 

Through many rolling clouds — so Kustum saw t^*'^^ 

His youth ; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom ; 

And that old king,° her father, who loved Avell 625 

His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child 

With joy ; and all the pleasant life they led, 

They three, in that long-distant summer-time — 

The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 

And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 630 

In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth, 

Of age and looks° to be his own deai\aan^ 

Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand,""^"" 

Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe / 

Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, / 635 

Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, 

And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, 

On the mown, dying grass — so Sohrab lay, 

Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 

And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and said : — 640 

" Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved. 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 
Have told thee false — thou art not Rustum's son. 
For Rustum had no son ; one child he had — 645 

But one — a girl; who with her mother now 
Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us — 
Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war." 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 21 

But Sohrab answer'd him in wratli ; for now 
The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, 650 

And he desired to draw forth the steel, 
And let the blood flow free, and so to die — 
But first he would convince his stubborn foe ; 
And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : — 

" Man, who art thou who dost deny my words ? 655 
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, 
And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine. 
I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm° I bear 
That seal which Rustum to my mother gave, 
That she might prick it on the babe she bore." 660 

He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, 
And his knees totter'd, and he smote his hand 
Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, 
That the hard iron corslet° clank'd aloud ; 
And to his heart he press'd the other hand, 665 

And in a hollow voice he spake, and said: — 

" Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie ! 
If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son."-^ --— 

Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed 
His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 670 

And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points 
Prick'd ; as a cunning° workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, 
An emperor's gift — at early morn he paints, 
And all day long, and, when niglit comes, the lamp 675 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands — r 

So delicately prick'd the sign appear'd . ' 

On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Eustum's seal. 
It was that griffin,° which of old rear'd Zal, 
Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, 680 

A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks ; 



22 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Him that kind creatiire found, and rear'd, and loved — 

Then Eustum took it for liis glorious sign. 

And Sohrab bared that image on his arm, 

And himself scann'd it long with mournful eyes, 685 

And then he touch'd it with his hand and said : — 

" How say'st thou ? Is that sign the proper sign 
Of Eustum's son, or of some other man's ? " 

He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood 
Speechless ; and then he utter'd one sharp cry : , 690 

hoy — thy father ! — and his voice choked there. 
And then a dark cloud ])ass'd before his eyes. 
And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. 
But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and cast 

His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips, 695 

And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks, 
Trying to call him back to life ; and life 
Came back to Eustum, and he oped his eyes, 
And they stood wide with horror ; and he seized 
In both his hands the dust which lay around, 700 

And threw it on his head, and smirch'd his hair, — 
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms ; 
And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, 
And his sobs choked him ; and he clutch'd his sword, 
To draw it, and for ever let life out. 705 

But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, 
And with a soothing voice he spake, and said : — 

" Father, forbear ! for I but meet to-day 
The doom which at my birth was written down 
In Heaven, and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand.° 710 
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, 
When first I saw thee ; and thy heart spoke too, 

1 know it! but fate trod those promptings down 
Under its iron heel j fate, fate engaged 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 23 

The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. 715 

But let us speak no more of this ! I find 

My father ; let me feel that I have found ! ° 

Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take 

My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, 

And wash them with thy tears, and say : My son ! 720 

Quick ! quick ! for number'd are my sands of life, 

And swift ; for like the lightning to this field 

I came, and like the wind I go away — 

Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind.° 

But it was writ in Heaven that this should be." 725 

So said he, and his voice released the heart 
Of Rustum, and his tears brake forth ; he cast 
His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud, 
And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts, 
When they saw Bustum's grief ; and Buksh, the horse, 730 
With his head bowing to the ground and mane 
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe 
First to the one then to the other moved 
His head, as if inquiring what their grief 
Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, 735 
The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked° the sand. 
But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said: — 

" Ruksh, now thou grievest ; but, Ruksh, thy feet 
Should first have rotted on their nimble joints. 
Or ere they brought thy master to this field ! " 740 

But Sohrab look'd upon the horse and said : — 
" Is this, then, Ruksh ? How often, in past days, 
My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed. 
My terrible father's terrible horse ! and said. 
That I should one day find thy lord and thee. 745 

Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane ! 
Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I : 



24 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

For thou liast gone where I shall never go, 

And snuff'd the breezes of my father's home. 

And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, 750 

And seen the Kiver of Helmund,° and the Lake 

Of Zirrah°; and the aged Zal himself 

Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food, 

Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine, 

And said : Ruksli! hear Rustum well! — but I 755 

Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, 

Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, 

Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream ; 

But lodged among my father's foes, and seen 

Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 760 

Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste. 

And the black Toorkmun tents ; and only drunk 

The desert rivers, Moorghab° and Tejend,° 

Kohik,° and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep. 

The northern Sir° ; and this great Oxus stream, 765 , 

The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." 

Then, with a heavy groan, Eustum bewail'd : — 
" Oh, that its waves were flowing over me ! 
Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
Koll tumbling in the current o'er my head ! " 770 

But, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied : — 
" Desire not that, my father ! thou must live. 
For some are born to do great deeds, and live, 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 775 

And reap a second glory in thine age ; 
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 
But come ! thou seest this great host of men 
Which follow me ; I pray thee, slay not these ! 
Let me entreat for them ; what have they done ? 780 



SOIIRAB AND RUSTUM 25 

They follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star. 

Let them all cross the Oxiis back in peace. 

But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, 

But carry me with thee to Seistan, 

And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, 785 

Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all thy friends. 

And thou must lay me in that lovely earth. 

And heap a stately mound° above my bones, 

And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 

That so the passing horseman on the waste 790 

May see my tomb a great way off, and cry : 
j^ohrah, the mighty RustiinVs son, lies there, 
(Whom his great father did in ignorance kill! 

And I be not forgotten in my grave." 

And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied : — 795 

" Fear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, 

So shall it be ; for I will burn my tents. 

And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me, 

And carry thee away to Seistan, 

And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, 800 

With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. 

And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, 

And heap a stately mound above thy bones. 

And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 

And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. 805 

And I will spare thy host ; yea, let them go ! 

Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace ! 

What should I do with slaying any more ? 

For would that all that I have ever slain 

Might be once more alive ; my bitterest foes, 810 

And they who were calPd champions in their time, 
'\And through whose death I won that fame I have — 

^And I were nothing but a common man, 

\ 



26 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

/ A poor, mean soldier, and without renown, 
I So thou niightest live too, my son, my son ! " 815 

Or rather would that I, even I myself. 
Might now be lying on this bloody sand, 
Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, 
Not thou of mine ! and I might die, not thou ; 
And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan ; 820 

And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine \ 
And say : son, I iveep thee not too sore, 
For loillingly, I know, thou met^st thine end! 
But now in blood and battles was my youth, 
And full of blood and battles is my age, 825 

And I shall never end this life of blood." 

Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied : — 
" A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man ! 
But- thou shalt yet have peace ; only not now, 
Not yet ! but thou shalt have it on that day,° 830 

When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, 
Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo, 
Returning home over the salt blue sea. 
From laying thy dear master in his grave." 

And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said : — 835 . 
" Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! I 

Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." 

He spoke ; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased 
His wound's imperious anguish ; but the blood 840 

Came welling from the open gash, and life 
Flow'd' with the stream ; — all down his cold white side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soil'd, 
Like the soil'd tissue of white violets 
Left, freshly gather'd, on their native bank, 845 

By children whom their nurses call with haste 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 



4? 



Indoors from the sun's eye ; his head droop'd low, 

His limbs grew slack ; moticnless, white, he lay — 

White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy gasps. 

Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, 850 

Convulsed him back to life, he open'd them, 

And fix'd them feebly on his father's face ; 

Till now a,ll strength was ebb'd, and from his limbs 

Unwillingly the spirit fled away, 

Regretting the warm mansion which it left, 855 

And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. 

So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead; 
And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak 
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. 
As those black granite pillars, once high-rear'd 860 

By Jemshid in Persepolis,° to bear 
His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps 
Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side — 
So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. 

And night came down over the solemn waste, 865 

And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, 
And darken'd all ; and a cold fog, with night, 
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose. 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 
Began to twinkle through the fog ; for now 870 

Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal; 
The Persians took it on the open sands 
Southward, the Tartars by the river marge ; 
And Rustum and his son were left alone. 

But the majestic river floated on, 875 

Out of the mist and hum of that low land. 
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, 
Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian° waste, 
Under the solitary moon ; — he flow'd 



28 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Eight for the polar star,° past Orgunje,° 880 

Brimming, and bright, and large ; then sands begin 
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, 
And split his currents ; that for many a league 
The shorn and parcell'd Oxus strains along y 
I Through beds of sand and matted rushy isle^!*^ 885 

I Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had 1 

'^Jn his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, / 

'\^ foil'd circuitous wanderer -^-till at last" -^ 
The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide 
His luminous h6me° of waters opens, bright 890 

And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars® 
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. 



SAINT BRANDAN® 

Saint Brandan sails the northern main ; 

The brotherhood of saints are glad. 

He greets them once, he sails again ; 

So late ! — such storms ! — The Saint is mad ! 

He heard, across the howling seas, 
Chime convent-bells on wintry nights; 
He saw, on spray-swept Hebrides,® 
Twinkle the monastery-lights ; 

But north, still north. Saint Brandan steered — 

And now no bells, no convents more ! 
The hurtling Polar lights® are near'd, 
The sea without a human shore. 



SAINT 'B RANDAN 29 

At last — (it was the Christmas night ; 

Stars shone after a day of storm) — 

He sees float past an iceberg white, 15 

And on it — Christ ! — a living form. 

That furtive mien, that scowling eye, 

Of hair that red" and tufted fell — 

It is — Oh, where shall BraiK^an fly ? — 

The traitor Judas, out of hell ! 20 

Palsied with terror, Brandan sate° ; 
The moon was bright, the iceberg near. 
He hears a voice sigh humbly : '' Wait ! 
By high permission I am here. 

" One moment wait, thou holy man 25 

On earth my crime, my death, they knew ; 
My name is under all men's ban — 
Ah, tell them of my respite too ! 

" Tell them, one blessed Christmas-night — 
(It was the first after I came, 30 

Breathing self-murder,° frenzy, spite. 
To rue my guilt in endless flame) — 

" I felt, as I in torment lay 

'Mid the souls plagued by heavenly power, 

An angel touch my arm, and say : 35 

Go hence, and cool thyself an hour ! 

" ' Ah, whence this mercy. Lord ? ' I said. 

The Leper recollect ° said he, 

Who ask^d the passers-by for aid, 

In Joppa,° and thy charity. 40 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 
" Then I remember'd how I went, 



In Joppa, through the public street, 
One morn when the sirocco spent 
Its storms of dust with burning heat ; 

" And in the street a leper sate, 45 

Shivering with fever, naked, old ; s 

Sand raked his sores from heel to pate, 
The hot wind fever'd him five-fold. 

" He gazed upon me as I pass'd 

And murmur'd : Hel^) me, or I die ! — 50 

To the poor wretch my cloak I cast. 

Saw him k)ok eased, and hurried by. 

"Oh, Brandan, think what grace divine. 
What blessing must full goodness shower. 
When fragment of it small, like mine, 55 

Hath such inestimable power ! 

" Well-fed, well-clothed, well-friended, I 

Did that chance act of good, that one ! 

Then went my way to kill and lie — 

Forgot my good as soon as done. 60 

" That germ of kindness, in the womb 
Of mercy caught, did not expire ; 
Outlives my guilt, outlives my doom, 
And friends me in the pit of fire. 

" Once every year, when carols wake, 65 

On earth, the Christmas-night's repose, 
Arising from the sinner's lake, 
I journey to these healing snows. 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN 31 

" I stanch with ice my burning breast, 

With silence balm my whirling brain. 70 

Oh, Brandan ! to this hour of rest 

That Joppan leper's ease was pain." — 

Tears started to Saint Brandan's eyes ; 
He bow'd his head, he breathed a prayer — 
Then look'd, and lo, the frosty skies ! 75 

The iceberg, and no Judas there ! 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN" 

Come, dear children, let us away ; 
Down and away below ! 
Now my brothers call from the bay. 
Now the great winds shoreward blow. 
Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 
Now the wild white horses° play, 
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. 
Children dear, let us away ! 
This way, this way ! 

Call her once before you go — 
Call once yet ! 

In a voice that she will know : 
" Margaret" ! Margaret ! " 
Children's voices should be dear 
(Call once more) to a mother's ear; 
Children's voices, wild with pain — 
Surely she will come again ! 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Call her once and come away ; 

This way, this way ! 

" Mother dear, we cannot stay ! 20 

The wild white horses foam and fref 

Margaret ! Margaret ! 

Come, dear children, come away down ; 

Call no more ! 

One last look at the white-walPd town, 25 

And the little grey church on the windy shore ; 

Then come down ! 

She will not come though you call all day ; 

Come away, come away ! 

Children dear, was it yesterday 30 

We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 

In the caverns where we lay, 

Through the surf and through the swell, 

The far-off sound of a silver bell ? 

Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35 

Where the winds are all asleep ; 

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam. 

Where the salt weed sways in the stream. 

Where the sSa-beasts, ranged° all round. 

Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 40 

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, 

Dry their mail° and bask in the brine 5 

Where great whales come sailing by, 

Sail and sail, with unshut eye. 

Round the world for ever and aye ? 45 

When did music come this way ? 

Children dear, was it yesterday ? 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN 33 

Children dear, was it yesterday 

(Call yet once) that she went away ? 

Once she sate with you and me, 50 

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, 

And the youngest sate on her knee. 

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, 

When down swung the sound of a far-off bell." 

She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea ; 55 

She said : " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 

In the little grey church on- the shore to-day. 

'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me! 

And I lose my poor soul, Merman ! here with thee." 

I said : " Go up, dear heart, through the waves ; 60 

Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves ! " 

She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. 

Children dear, was it yesterday ? 

Children dear, were we long alone ? 
" The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan ; 65 

Long prayers," I said, " in the world they say ; 
Come ! " I said ; and we rose through the surf in the bay. 
We went up the beach, by the sandy down 
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walPd town ; 
Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70 
To the little grey church on the windy hill. 
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, 
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 
We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, 
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 
She sate by the pillar ; we saw her clear : 76 

" Margaret, hist ! come quick, we are here ! 
Dear heart," I said, " we are long alone ; 
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." 



34 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 

For her eyes were seal'd° to the holy book ! 
Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the door. 
Come away, children, call no more ! 
Come away, come down, call no more ! 

Down, down, down ! 85 

Down to the depths of the sea ! 
She sits at her wheel in the humming town. 
Singing most joyfully. 
Hark what she sings : " joy, joy. 
For the humming street, and the child with its toy ! 90 
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well ; 
For the wheel where I spun. 
And the blessed light of the sun°! " 
And so she sings her fill, 

Singing most joyfully, 95 

Till the spindle drops from her hand, 
And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, 
And over the sand at the sea ; 

And her eyes are set in a stare ; 100 

And anon there breaks a sigh, 
And anon there drops a tear, 
From a sorrow-clouded eye, 
And a heart sorrow-laden, 

A long, long sigh ; 105 

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden 
And the gleam of her golden hair. 

Come away, away, children ; 
Come children, come down ! 

The hoarse wind blows coldly; no 

Lights shine in the town. 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN 36 

She will start from her slumber 

When gnsts shake the door; 

She will hear the winds howling, 

Will hear the weaves roar. ' 115 

We shall see, while above us 

The waves roar and whirl, 

A ceiling of amber, 

A pavement of pearl. 

Singing : " Here came a mortal, 120 

But faithless was she ! 

And alone dwell for ever 

The kings of the sea." 

But, children, at midnight, 

When soft the winds blow, 125 

When clear falls the moonlight, 

When spring-tides are low ; 

When sweet airs come seaward 

From heaths starr'd with broom,° 

And high rocks throw mildly 130 

On the blanch'd sands a gloom ; 

Up the still, glistening beaches. 

Up the creeks we will hie. 

Over banks of bright seaweed 

The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 

We will gaze, from the sand-hills. 

At the white, sleeping town ; 

At the church on the hill-side — 

And then come back down. 

Singing : '^ There dwells a loved one, 140 

But cruel is she ! 

She left lonely for ever 

The kings of the sea." 



36 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT^ 



TRISTRAM 

Tristram. Is she not come° ? The messenger was sure. 
Prop me upon the pillows once again — 
Raise me, my page ! this cannot long endure. 
— Christ, what a night ! how the sleet whips the pane ! 
What lights will those out to the northward be° ? 5 

The Page. The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea. 

Tristram. Soft — who is that, stands by the dying fire ? 

The Page. Iseult.° 

Tristram. Ah ! not the Iseult I desire. 



What Knight is this so weak and pale. 

Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head, 

Propt on pillows in his bed, n 

Gazing seaward for the light 

Of some ship that fights the gale 

On this wild December night ? 

Over the sick man's feet is spread 15 

A dark green forest-dress ; 

A gold harp leans against the bed, 

Ruddy in the fire's light. 

I know him by his harp of gold, 

Famous in Arthur's court° of old; 20 

I know him by his forest-dress — 

The peerless hunter, harper, knight, 

Tristram of Lyoness.° 



.^0 



35 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 37 

What Lady is this, whose silk attire 

Gleams so rich in the light of the fire ? 25 

The ringlets on her shoulders lying 

In their flitting lustre vying 

With the clasp of burnish'd gold 

Which her heavy robe doth hold. 

Her looks are mild, her fingers slight 

As the driven snow are white° ; 

But her cheeks are sunk and pale. 

Is it that the bleak sea-gale 

Beating from the Atlantic sea 

On this coast of Brittany, 

Nips too keenly the sweet flower ? 

Is it that a deep fatigue 

Hath come on her, a chilly fear, 

Passing all her youthful hour 

Spinning with her maidens here, 40 

Listlessly through the window-bars 

Gazing seawards many a league. 

From her lonely shore-built tower. 

While the knights are at the wars ? 

Or, perhaps, has her young heart 45 

Felt already some deeper smart. 

Of those that in secret the heart-strings rive, 

Leaving her sunk and pale, though fair ? 

Who is this snowdrop by the sea ? 

I know her by her mildness rare, 50 

Her snow-white hands, her golden hair ; 

I know her by her rich silk dress, 

And her fragile loveliness — 

The sweetest Christian soul alive, 

Iseult of Brittany. 



38 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Iseult of Brittany ? — but where 

Is that other Iseult fair, 

That proud, first Iseult, Cornwall's queen ? 

She, whom Tristram's ship of yore 

From Ireland to Cornwall bore, 60 

To Tyntagel,° to the side 

Of King Marc,° to be his bride ? 

She who, as they voyaged, quaff 'd 

With Tristram that spiced magic draught, 

Which since then for ever rolls 65 

Through their blood, and binds their souls, 

Working love, but working teen°? — 

There were two Iseults who did sway 

Each her hour of Tristram's day ; 

But one possess'd his waning time, 70 

The other his resplendent prime. 

Behold her here, the patient flower. 

Who possess'd his darker hour ! 

Iseult of the Snow- White Hand 

Watches pale by Tristram's bed. 75 

She is here who had his gloom. 

Where art thou who hadst his bloom ? 

One such kiss as those of yore 

Might thy dying knight restore ! 

Does the love-draught work no more ? . 80 

Art thou cold, or false, or dead, 

Iseult of Ireland ? 



Loud howls the wind, sharp patters the rain. 
And the knight sinks back on his pillows again. 
He is weak with fever and pain, 85 

And his spirit is not clear. 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 39 

Hark ! he mutters in his sleep, 

As he wanders° far from here, 

Changes place and time of year, 

And his closed eye doth sweep 90 

O'er some fair unwintry sea,° 

Not this fierce Atlantic deep, 

While he mutters brokenly : — 

Tristram. The calm sea shines, loose hang the vessel's 
sails ; 
Before us are the sweet green fields of Wales, 95 

And overhead the cloudless sky of May. — 
^^ All, ivould I vjere in those green fields at play, • 

Not 2Jent on ship-hoard this delicious day ! 
Tristram, I pray thee, of thy courtesy, 
Reach me my golden phicd stands by thee, 100 

But pledge me in it first for courtesy.''^ — 
Ha ! dost thou start ? are thy lips blanch'd like mine ? 
Child, 'tis no true draught this, 'tis poison'd wine ! 
Iseult! . . . 

Ah, sweet angels, let him dream ! 105 

Keep his eyelids ! let him seem 

Not this fever- wasted wight 

Thinn'd and paled before his time, 

But the brilliant youthful knight 

In the glory of his prime, no 

Sitting in the gilded barge, 

At thy side, thou lovely charge, 

Bending gaily o'er thy hand, 

Iseult of Ireland ! 

And she too, that^ princess fair, 115 

If her bloom be now less rare. 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Let lier have her youth again — 

Let her be as she was then ! 

Let her have her proud dark eyes, 

And her petulant quick replies — 120 

Let her sweep her dazzling hand 

With its gesture of command, 

And shake back her raven hair 

With the old imperious air ! 

As of old, so let her be, 125 

That first Iseult, princess bright, 

Chatting with her youthful knight 

As he steers her o'er the sea, 

Quitting at her father's will 

The green isle° where she was bred, 130 

And her bower in Ireland, 

For the surge-beat Cornish strand 

Where the prince whom she must wed 

Dwells on loud Tyntagel's hill,° 

High above the sounding sea. 135 

And that potion rare her mother 

Gave her, that her future lord, 

Gave her, that King Marc and she. 

Might drink it on their marriage-day, 

And for ever love each other — 140 

Let her, as she sits on board. 

Ah, sweet saints, unwittingly ! 

See it shine, and take it up, 

And to Tristram laughing say : 

" Sir Tristram, of thy courtesy, 145 

Pledge me in my golden cup ! " 

Let them drink it — let their hands 

Tremble, and their cheeks be flame. 

As they feel the fatal bands 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 41 

Of a love they dare not name, 150 

With a wild delicious pain, 

Twine about their hearts again ! 

Let the early summer be 

Once more round them, and the sea 

Blue, and o'er its mirror kind 155 

Let the breath of the May -wind, 

Wandering through their drooping sails, 

Die on the green fields of Wales ! 

Let a dream like this restore 

What his eye must see no more ! ° 160 

Tristram. Chill blows the wind, the pleasaunce-walks° 
are drear — 
Madcap, what jest was this, to meet me here ? 
Were feet like those made for so wild a way ? 
The southern winter-parlour, by my fay,° 
Had been the likeliest try sting-place to-day ! 165 

'• Tristram ! — nay, nay — thou 7nnst not take my hand ! — 
Tristram ! — sweet love ! — we are hetrayW — out-planned. 
Fly — save thyself — save me! — / dare not stay.'' — 
One last kiss first ! — " ' Tis vain — to horse — away ! " 

Ah ! sweet saints, his dream doth move 170 

Faster surely than it should, 

From the fever in his blood ! 

All the spring-time of his love 

Is already gone and past. 

And instead thereof is seen 175 

Its winter, which endureth still — 

Tyntagel on its surge-beat hill. 

The pleasaunce- walks, the weeping queen, 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

The flying leaves, the straining blast, 

And that long, wild kiss — their last.° 180 

And this rongli December-night, 

And his burning fever-pain. 

Mingle with his hurrying dream, 

Till they rule it, till he seem 

The press'd fugitive again, 185 

The love-desperate banish'd knight 

With a fire in his brain 

Flying o'er the stormy main. 

— Whither does he wander now ? 

Haply in his dreams the wind 190 

Wafts him here, and lets him find 

The lovely orphan child° again 

In her castle by the coast ; 

The youngest, fairest chatelaine,° 

Whom this realm of France can boast, 195 

Our snowdrop by the Atlantic sea, 

Iseult of Brittany. 

And — for through the haggard air, 

The stain'd arms, the matted hair 

Of that stranger-knight ill-starr'd,° 200 

There gleam'd something, which recall'd 

The Tristram who in better days 

Was Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard° — 

Welcomed here,° and here install'd, 

Tended of his fever here, 205 

Haply he seems again to move 

His young guardian's heart with love 

In his exiled loneliness. 

In his stately, deep distress. 

Without a word, without a tear. 210 

— Ah ! 'tis well he should retrace 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 43 

His tranquil life in this lone place ; 

His gentle bearing at the side 

Of his timid youthful bride ; 

His long rambles by the shore 215 

On winter-evenings, when the roar 

Of the near waves came, sadly grand, 

Through the dark, up the drown'd sand, 

Or his endless reveries 

In the woods, where the gleams play 220 

On the grass under the trees, 

Passing the long summer's day 

Idle as a mossy stone 

In the forest-depths alone, 

The chase neglected, and his hound . 225 

Couch'd beside him on the ground.". 

— Ah ! what trouble's on his brow ? 

Hither let him wander now; 

Hither, to the quiet hours 

Pass'd among these heaths of ours 230 

By the grey Atlantic sea ; 

Hours, if not of ecstasy. 

From violent anguish surely free ! 

Tristram. All red with blood the whirling river flows. 
The wide plain rings, the dazed air throbs with blows. 235 
Upon us are the chivalry of Rome — 
Their spears are down, their steeds are bathed in foam.° 
"Up, Tristram, up," men cry, "thou moonstruck knight°! 
What foul fiend rides thee° ? On into the fight ! " 
— Above the din her° voice is in my ears; 240 

I see her form glide through the crossing spears. — 
Iseult! . . . 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Ah ! he wanders forth again" ; 

We cannot keep him ; now, as then, 

There's a secret in his breast° 245 

Which will never let him rest. 

These musing fits in the green wood 

They cloud the brain, they dull the blood ! 

— His sword is sharp, his horse is good; 

Beyond the mountains will he see 250 

The famous towns of Italy, 

And label with the blessed sign° 

The heathen Saxons on the Rhine. 

At Arthur's side he fights once more 

With the Roman Emperor.° 255 

There's many a gay knight where he goes 

Will help him to forget his care ; 

The march, the leaguer,° Heaven's blithe air. 

The neighing steeds, the ringing blows — 

Sick pining comes not where these are. 260 

Ah ! what boots it,° that the jest 

Lightens every other brow, 

What, that every other breast 

Dances as the trumpets blow, 

If one's own heart beats not light 265 

On the waves of the toss'd fight, 

If oneself cannot get free 

Erom the clog of misery ? 

Thy lovely youthful wife grows pale 

Watching by the salt sea-tide 270 

With her children at her side 

For the gleam of thy white sail. 

Home, Tristram, to thy halls again ! 

To our lonely sea complain. 

To uLir forests tell thy pain! 275 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 45 

Tristram. All round the forest sweeps off, black in 
shade, 
But it is moonlight in the open glade ; 
And in the bottom of the glade shine clear 
The forest-chapel and the fountain near. 

— I think, I have a fever in ray blood ; 280 
Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood. 

Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood. 

— Mild shines the cold spring in the moon's clear light ; 
God ! 'tis her face plays in the waters bright. 

" Fair love," she says, " canst thou forget so soon, 285 
At this soft hour under this sweet moon ? " — 
Iseult! . . . 



Ah, poor soul ! if this be so, 
Only death can balm thy woe. 
The solitudes of the green wood 290 

Had no medicine for thy mood; 
The rushing battle clear'd thy blood 
As little as did solitude. 
— Ah ! his eyelids slowly break 
Their hot seals, and let him wake ; 295 

What new change shall we now see ? 
A happier ? Worse it cannot be. 

Tristram. Is my page here ? Come, turn me to the 
fire! 
Upon the window-panes the moon shines bright ; 
The wind is down — but she'll not come to-night. 300 

Ah no ! she is asleep in Cornwall now. 
Far hence ; her dreams are fair — smooth is her brow 
Of me she recks not,° nor my vain desire. 



46 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

— I have had dreams, I have had dreams, my page, 
Would take a score years from a strong man's age ; 305 
And with a blood like mine, will leave, I fear, 

Scant leisure for a second messenger. 

— My princess, art thou there ? Sweet, do not wait ! 
To bed, and sleep ! my fever is gone by ; 

To-night my page shall keep me company. 310 

Where do the children sleep ? kiss them for me ! 
Poor child, thou art almost as pale as T ; 
This comes of nursing long and watching late. 
To bed — good night !° 



She left the gleam-lit fireplace, 315 

She came to the bed-side ; 
She took his hands in hers — her tears 
Down on his wasted fingers rain'd. 
She raised her eyes upon his face — 
Not with a look of wounded pride, 320 

A look as if the heart complained — 
Her look was like a sad embrace ; 
The gaze of one who can divine 
A grief, and sympathise. 

Sweet flower ! thy children's eyes 325 

Are not more innocent than thine. 
But they sleep in shelter'd rest. 
Like helpless birds in the warm nest, 
On the castle's southern side ; 
Where feebly comes the mournful roar 330 

Of buffeting wind and surging tide 
Through many a room and corridor. 
— Full on their window the moon's ray 
Makes their chamber as bright as day. 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 47 

It shines upon the blank white walls, 335 

And on the snowy pillow falls, 

And on two angel-heads doth play 

Turn'd to each other — the eyes closed, 

The lashes on the cheeks reposed. 

Round each sweet brow the cap close-set 340 

Hardly lets peep the golden hair ; 

Through the soft-open'd lips the air 

Scarcely moves the coverlet. 

One little wandering arm is thrown 

At random on the counterpane, 345 

And often the lingers close in haste 

As if their baby-owner chased 

The butterflies again. 

This stir they have, and this alone ; 350 

But else they are so still ! 

— Ah, tired madcaps ! you lie still ; 

But were you at the window now, 

To look forth on the fairy sight' 

Of your illumined haunts by night, 355 

To see the park-glades where you play 

Far lovelier than they are by day, 

To see the sparkle on the eaves. 

And upon every giant-bough 

Of those old oaks, whose wet red leaves 360 

Are jewelPd with bright drops of rain — 

How would your voices run again ! 

And far beyond the sparkling trees 

Of the castle-park one sees 

The bare heaths spreading, clear as day, 365 

Moor behind moor, far, far away, 

Into the heart of Brittany. 

And here and there, lock'd by the land, 



48 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Long inlets of smooth glittering sea, 

And many a stretch of watery sand 370 

All shining in the white moon-beams — 

But you see fairer in your dreams ! 

What voices are these on the clear night-air ? 
What lights in the court — what steps on the stair ? 

II 



ISEULT OF IRELAND 

Tristram. Raise the light, my page ! that I may see 
her. — 

Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen ! 
Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever ; 

Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been. 

Iseidt. Blame me not, poor sufferer ! that I tarried ; 5 
Bound I was, I could not break the band. 

Chide not with the past, but feel the present ! 
I am here — we meet — I hold thy hand. 

Tristram. Thou art come, indeed — thou hast rejoin'd 
me ; 

Thou hast dared it — but too late to save. 10 

Fear not now that men should tax thine honour ! 

I am dying : build — (thou may'st) — my grave ! 

Iseidt. Tristram, ah, for love of Heaven, speak kindly ! 

What, I hear these bitter words from thee ? 
Sick with grief I am, and faint with travel — 15 

Take my hand — dear Tristram, look on me ! 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 49 

Tristram. I forgot, tlioii comest from thy voyage — 

Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair. 
But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult ! 

And thy beauty never was more fair. 20 

Iseult. Ah, harsh flatterer ! let alone my beauty ! 

I, like thee, have left my youth afar. 
Take my hand, and touch these wasted fingers — 

See my cheek and lips, how white they are ! 

Tristram. Thou art paler — but thy sweet charm, Iseult! 

Would not fade with the dull years away. 26 

Ah, how fair thou standest in the moonlight ! 

I forgive thee, Iseult ! — thou wilt stay ? 

Iseult. Fear me not, I will be always with thee ; . 

I will watch thee, tend thee, soothe thy pain ; 30 

Sing thee tales of true, long-parted lovers, 

Join'd at evening of their days again. 

Tristram. No, thou shalt not speak ! I should be finding 

Something alter'd in thy courtly tone. 
Sit — sit by me! I will think, we've lived so 35 

In the green wood, all our lives, alone. 

Iseult. Alter'd, Tristram ? Not in courts, believe me, 

Love like mine is alter'd in the breast ; 
Courtly life is light and cannot reach it — 

Ah ! it lives, because so deep-suppress'd ! 40 

What, thou think'st men speak in courtly chambers 
Words by which the wretched are consoled ? 

What, thou think'st this aching brow was cooler, 
Circled, Tristram, by a band of gold ? 



50 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Royal state with Marc, my deep-wrong'd husband — 45 

That was bliss to make my sorrows flee ! 
Silken courtiers whispering honied nothings° — 

Those were friends to make me false to thee ! 

Ah, on which, if both our lots were balanced. 

Was indeed the heaviest burden thrown — 50 

Thee, a pining exile in thy forest. 

Me, a smiling queen upon my throne ? 

Vain and strange debate, where both have suffer'd, 
Both have pass'd a youth consumed and s_ad. 

Both have brought their anxious day to evening, 55 

And have now short space for being glad ! 

Join'd we are henceforth ; nor will thy people, 

Nor thy younger Iseult take it ill. 
That a former rival shares her office. 

When she sees her humbled, pale, and still. 60 

I, a faded watcher by thy pillow, 

I, a statue on thy chapel-floor, 
Pour'd in prayer before the Virgin-Mother, 

Rouse no anger, make no rivals more. 

She will cry : " Is this the foe I dreaded ? 65 

This his idol ? this that royal bride ? 
Ah, an hour of health would purge his eyesight ! 

Stay, pale queen ! for ever by my side." 

Hush, no words ! that smile, I see, forgives me. 

I am now thy nurse, I bid thee sleep. 70 

Close thine eyes — this flooding moonlight blinds them ! — 

Nay, all's well again ! thou must not weep. 



TRISTRAM AND ISEVLT 5i 

Tristram. I am happy ! yet I feel, there's something 
Swells my heart, and takes my breath a^va3^ 

Through a mist I see thee ; near — come nearer ! 75 

Bend — bend down ! — I yet have much to say. 

Iseult. Heaven ! his head sinks back upon the pillow — 
Tristram ! Tristram ! let thy heart not fail ! 

Call on God and on the holy angels ! 

What, love, courage ! — Christ ! he is so pale. 80 

Tristram. Hush, 'tis vain, I feel my end approaching ! 

This is what my mother said should be. 
When the fierce pains took her in the forest, 

The deep draughts of death, in bearing me. 

" Son," she said, "thy name shall be of sorrow; 85 

Tristram art thon call'd for my death's sake." 

So she said, and died in the drear forest. 

Grief since then his home with me doth make.° 

I am dying. — Start not, nor look wildly ! 

Me, thy living friend, thou canst not save. 90 

But, since living we were ununited, 

Go not far, Iseult ! from my grave. 

Close mine eyes, then seek the princess Iseult ; 

Speak her fair, she is of royal blood ! 
Say, I will'd so, that thou stay beside me — 95 

She will grant it ; she is kind and good. 

Now to sail the seas of death I leave thee — 
One last kiss upon the living shore ! 



52 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Iseult. Tristram ! — Tristram ! — stay — receive me with 
thee! 
Iseult leaves thee, Tristram ! never more.° loo 

You see them clear — the moon shines bright. 

Slow, slow and softly, where she stood, 

She sinks upon the ground; — her hood 

Has fallen back ; her arms outspread 

Still hold her lover's hand ; her head 105 

Is bow'd, half-buried, on the bed. 

O'er the blanch'd sheet her raven hair 

Lies in disorder'd streams ; and there, 

Strung like white stars, the pearls still are, 

And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare, no 

Flash on her white arms still. 

The very same which yesternight 

Flash'd in the silver sconces'° light. 

When the feast was gay and the laughter loud 

In Tyntagel's palace proud. 115 

But then they deck'd a restless ghost 

With hot-flush'd cheeks and brilliant eyes, 

And quivering lips on which the tide 

Of courtly speech abruptly died. 

And a glance which over the crowded floor, 120 

The dancers, and the festive host. 

Flew ever to the door.° 

That the knights eyed her in surprise, 

And the dames whispered scoffingly : 

" Her moods, good lack, they pass like showers ! 125 

But yesternight and she would be 

As pale and still as wither'd flowers. 

And now to-night she laughs and speaks 

And has a colour in her cheeks ; 

Christ keep us from such fantasy ! '^ — 130 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 53 

Yes, now the longing is o'erpast, 

Which, dogg'cF by fear and fought by shame, 

Shook her weak bosom day and night, 

Consumed her beauty like a flame, 

And dimm'd it like the desert-blast. 135 

And though the bed-clothes hide her face, 

Yet were it lifted to the light, 

The sweet expression of her brow 

Would charm the gazer, till his thought 

Erased the ravages of time, 140 

Fill'd up the hollow cheek, and brought 

A freshness back as of her prime — 

So healing is her quiet now. 

So perfectly the lines express 

A tranquil, settled loveliness, 145 

Her younger rival's purest grace. 

! The air of the December-night 

Steals coldly around the chamber bright. 

Where those lifeless lovers be ; 

Swinging with it, in the light 150 

Flaps the ghostlike tapestry. 

And on the arras wrought you see 
: A stately Huntsman, clad in green, 
1 And round him a fresh forest-scene. 
' On that clear forest-knoll he stays, 155 

With his pack round him, and delays. 

He stares and stares, with troubled face, 

At this huge, gleam-lit fireplace, 

At that bright, iron-figured door. 

And those blown rushes on the floor. 160 

He gazes down into the room 

With heated cheeks and flurried air. 



54 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And to himself he seems to say : 

^' What place is this, and ivho are they? 

WIio is that kneeling Lady fair ? 165 

A7id on his pillows that pale Knight 

Wlio seems of marble on a tomb f 

How comes it here, this chamber bright, 

Throngh ivhose mulUon^d ivindows clear 

The castle-court cdl wet ivith rain, 170 

The drawbridge and the moat appear. 

Arid then the beach, and, marked with spray, 

The sunken reefs, and far aivay 

The unquiet bright Atlantic plain? 

— What, has some glamour made me sleep, 175 
And sent me ivith my dogs to sweep. 

By night, with boisterous bugle-peal, 

Through some old, sea-side, knightly hall, 

Not in the free green tvood at cdl ? 

That luiighfs asleep, and at her prayer 180 

That Lady by the bed doth kneel — 

Then hush, thou boisterous bugle-pecU ! " 

— The wild boar rustles in his lair ; 
The fierce hounds snuff the tainted air;^ 

But lord and houiuis keep rooted there. 185 



Cheer, cheer thy dogs into the brake, 

Hunter ! and without a fear 

Thy golden-tassell'd bugle blow, 

And through the glades thy pastime take — 

For thou wilt rouse no sleepers here ! 190 

For these thou seest are unmoved ; 

Cold, cold as those who lived and loved 

A thousand years ago.° 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 55 



III 



A YEAR had flown, and o'er the sea away, 
In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay ; 
In King Marc's chapel, in Tyntagel old — 
There in a ship they bore those lovers cold. 

The young surviving Iseult, one bright day, 5 

Had wander'd forth. Her children were at play 

In a g^-een circular hollow in the heath 

Which borders the sea-shore — a country path 

Creeps over it from the till'd fields behind. 

The hollow's grassy banks are soft-inclined, 10 

And to one standing on them, far and near 

The lone unbroken view spreads bright and clear 

Over the waste. This cirque° of open ground 

Is light and green ; the heather, which all round 

Creeps thickly, grows not here ; but the pale grass 15 

Is strewn with rocks, and many a shiver'd mass 

Of vein'd white-gleaming quartz, and here and there 

Dotted with holly-trees and juniper.° 

In the smooth centre of the opening stood 

Three hollies side by side, and made a screen, 20 

Warm with the winter-sun, of burnish'd green 

With scarlet berries gemm'd, the fell-fare's° food. 

Under the glittering hollies Iseult stands, 

Watching her children play ; their little hands 

Are busy gathering spars of quartz, and streams 25 

Of stagshorn° for their hats ; anon, with screams 



56 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Of mad delight they drop their spoils, and bound 

Among the holly-clumps and broken ground, 

Racing full speed, and startling in their rush 

The fell-fares and the speckled missel-thrush 30 

Out of their glossy coverts ; — but when now 

Their cheeks were flush'd, and over each hot brow, 

Under the feather'd hats of the sweet pair. 

In blinding masses shower'd the golden hair — • 

Then Iseult call'd them to her, and the three 35 

Cluster'd under the holly-screen, and she 

Told them an old-world Breton history .° 

Warm in their mantles wrapt the three stood there, 
Under the hollies, in the clear still air — 
Mantles with those rich furs deep glistering 40 

Which Venice ships do from swart Egypt bring. 
Long they stay'd still — then, pacing at their ease, 
Moved up and down under the glossy trees. 
But still, as they pursued their warm dry road, 
From Iseult's lips the unbroken story flow'd, 45 

And still the children listen'd, their blue eyes 
Fix'd on their mother's face in wide snrprise ; 
Nor did their looks stray once to the sea-side, 
Nor to the brown heaths round them, bright and wide. 
Nor to the snow, which, though 'twas all away 50 

From the open heath, still by the hedgerows lay, 
Nor to the shining sea-fowl, that with screams 
Bore up from where the bright Atlantic gleams. 
Swooping to landward ; nor to where, quite clear, 
The fell-fares settled on the thickets near. 55 

And they would still have listen'd, till dark night 
Came keen and chill down on the heather bright j 
But, when the red glow on the sea grew cold, 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 57 

And the grey turrets of the castle old 
Look'd sternly through the frosty evening-air, 60 

Then Iseult took by the hand those children fair, 
And brought her tale to an end, and found the path, 
And led them home over the darkening heath. 

And is she happy ? Does she see unmoved 

The days in which she might have lived and loved 65 

Slip without bringing bliss slowly away, 

One after one, to-morrow like to-day ? 

Joy has not found her yet, nor ever will — 

Is it this thought which makes her mien so still, 

Her features so fatigued, her eyes, though sweet, 70 

So sunk, so rarely lifted save to meet 

Her children's ? She moves slow; her voice alone 

Hath yet an infantine and silver tone. 

But even that comes languidly ; in truth. 

She seems one dying in a mask of youth. 75 

And now she will go home, and softly lay 

Her. laughing children in their beds, and play 

Awhile with them before they sleep ; and then 

She'll light her silver lamp, which fishermen 

Dragging their nets through the rough waves, afar, 80 

Along this iron coast,° know like a star,° 

And take her broidery-frame, and there she'll sit 

Hour after hour, her gold curls sweeping it; 

Lifting her soft-bent head only to mind 

Her children, or to listen to the wind. 85 

And when the clock peals midnight, she will move 

Her work away, and let her fingers rove 

Across the shaggy brows of Tristram's hound 

Who lies, guarding her feet, along the ground ; 

Or else she will fall musing, her blue eyes 90 



58 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Fixt, her slight hands clasp'd on her lap ; then rise, 

And at her prie-dieu° kneel, until she have told 

Her rosary-beads of ebony tipp'd with gold, 

Then to her soft sleep — and to-morrow'll be 

To-day's exact repeated effigy. 95 

Yes, it is lonely for her in her hall. 

The children, and the grey-hair'd seneschal,° 

Her women, and Sir Tristram's aged hound. 

Are there the sole companions to be found. 

But these she loves ; and noiser life than this loo 

She would find ill to bear, weak as she is. 

She has her children, too, and night and day 

Is with them ; and the wide heaths where they play, ^ 

The hollies, and the cliff, and the sea-shore, ^ 

The sand, the sea-birds, and the distant sails, 105 ' 

These are to her dear as to them ; the tales 

With which this day the children she beguiled J 

She gleaned from Breton grandames, when a child, ** 

In every hut along this sea-coast wild. 

She herself loves them still, and, when they are told, no 

Can forget all to hear them, as of old. 

Dear saints, it is not sorrow, as I hear, 

Not suffering, which shuts up eye and ear 

To all that has delighted them before. 

And lets us be what we were once no more. 115 

No, we may suffer deeply, yet retain 

Power to be moved and soothed, for all our pain, 

By what of old pleased us, and will again. 

No, 'tis the gradual furnace of the world. 

In whose hot air our spirits are upcurl'd 120 

Until they crumble, or else grow like steel — 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 59 

Which kills in us the bloom, the youth, the spring — 

Which leaves the fierce necessity to feel, 

But takes away the power — this can avail, 

By drying up our joy in everything, 125 

To make our former pleasures all seem stale. 

This, or some tyrannous single thought, some fit 

Of passion, which subdues our soids to it. 

Till for its sake alone we live and move — 

Call it ambition, or remorse, or love — 130 

This too can change us wholly, and make seem 

All which we did before, shadow and dream. 

And yet, I swear, it angers me to see 
How this fool passion gulls° men potently ; 
Being, in truth, but a diseased unrest, 135 

And an unnatural overheat at best. 
How they are full of languor and distress 
Not having it ; which when they do possess, 
They straightway are burnt up with fume and care. 
And spend their lives in posting here and there° 140 

Where this plague drives them ; and have little ease. 
Are furious with themselves, and hard to please. 
Like that bold Csesar," the famed Roman wight, 
Who wept at reading of a Grecian knight 
Who made a name at younger years than he ; 145 

Or that renown'd mirror of chivalry. 
Prince Alexander,° Philip's peerless son, 
Who carried the great war from Macedon 
Into the Soudan's° realm, and thundered on 
To die at thirty-five in Babylon. 150 

What tale did Iseult to the children say, 
Under the hollies, that bright winter's day ? 



60 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

She told them of the fairy-haunted land 

Away the other side of Brittany, 

Beyond the heaths, edged by the lonely sea; 155 

Of the deep forest-glades of Broce-liande,° 

Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps, 

Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps. 

For here he came with the fay° Vivian, 

One April, when the warm days first began. 160 

He was on foot, and that false fay, his friend, 

On her white palfrey ; here he met his end, 

In these lone sylvan glades, that April-day. 

This tale of Merlin and the lovely fay° 

Was the one Iseult chose, and she brought clear 165 

Before the children's fancy him and her. 

Blowing between the stems, the forest-air 

Had loosen'd the brown locks of Vivian's hair. 

Which play'd on her flush'd cheek, and her blue eyes 

Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise. 170 

Her palfrey's flanks were mired and bathed in sweat, 

For they had travell'd far and not stopp'd yet. _ 

A brier in that tangled wilderness 

Had scored her white right hand, which she allows 

To rest ungloved on her green riding-dress; 175 

The other warded off the drooping boughs. 

But still she chatted on, with her blue eyes 

Fix'd full on Merlin's face, her stately prize. 

Her 'haviour had the morning's fresh clear grace, 

The spirit of the woods was in her face. 180 

She look'd so witching fair, that learned wight 

Forgot his craft, and his best wits took flight ; 

And he grew fond, and eager to obey 

His mistress, use her empire" as she may. 



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT 61 

They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day 185 

Peer'd 'twixt the stems ; and the ground broke away, 

In a sloped sward down to a brawling brook ; 

And up as high as where they stood to look 

On the brook's farther side was clear, but then 

The underwood and trees began again. 190 

This open glen was studded thick with thorns 

Then white with blossom ; and you saw the horns, 

Through last year's fern, of the shy fallow-deer 

Who come at noon down to the water here. 

You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along 195 

Under the thorns on the green sward ; and strong 

The blackbird whistled from the dingles near. 

And the weird chipping of the woodpecker 

Kang lonelily and sharp ; the sky was fair. 

And a fresh breath of spring stirr'd everywhere. 200 

Merlin and Vivian stopp'd on the slope's brow. 

To gaze on the light sea of leaf and bough 

Which glistering plays all round them, lone and mild. 

As if to itself the quiet forest smiled. 

Upon the brow-top grew a thorn, and here 205 

The grass was dry and moss'd, and you saw clear 

Across the hollow ; white anemones 

Starr'd the cool turf, and clumps of primroses 

E-an out from the dark underwood behind. 

Ko fairer resting-place 3, man could find. 210 

" Here let us halt," said Merlin then ; and she 

Nodded, and tied her palfrey to a tree. 

They sate them down together, and a sleep 

Fell upon Merlin, more like death, so deep. 

Her finger on her lips, then Vivian rose 215 

And from her brown-lock/d head the wimple throws, 



62 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And takes it in her hand, and waves it over 
The blossom 'd thorn-tree and her sleeping lover. 
Nine times she waved the fluttering wimple° round, 
And made a little plot of magic ground. 
And in that daised circle, as men say, 
Is Merlin prisoner^ till the judgment-day ; 
But she herself whither she will can rove — 
For she was passing weary of his love.° 



LYRICAL POEMS 

THE CHURCH OF BE,OU° 
I 

THE CASTLE 

Down the Savoy° valleys sounding, 
Echoing round this castle old, 

^Mid the distant mountain-chalets° 
Hark ! what bell for church is toll'd? 

In the bright October morning 
Savoy's Duke had left his bride. 

From the castle, past the drawbridge, 
Flow'd the hunters' merry tide. 

Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering; 

Ga}^, her smiling lord to greet. 
From her mullion'd chamber-casement 

Smiles the Duchess Marguerite. 

From Vienna, by the Danube, 

Here she came, a bride, in spring. 

Now the autumn crisps the forest ; 
Hunters gather, bugles ring. 
63 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Hounds are pulling, prickers° swearing, 

Horses fret, and boar-spears glance. 
Off ! — They sweep the marshy forests, 

Westward, on the side of France. 20 

Hark ! the game's on foot ; they scatter ! — 

Down the forest-ridings lone, 
Furious, single horsemen gallop 

Hark ! a shout — a crash — a groan ! 

Pale and breathless, came the hunters ; 25 

On the turf dead lies the boar — 
God ! the Duke lies stretch'd beside him, 

Senseless, weltering in his gore. 

* # # =* :M= 

In the dull October evening, 

Down the leaf-strewn forest-road, 30 

To the castle, past the drawbridge. 

Came the hunters with their load. 

In the hall, with sconces blazing, 

Ladies waiting round her seat. 
Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais° 35 

Sate the Duchess Marguerite. 

Hark ! below the gates unbarring ! 

Tramp of men and quick commands ! 
" — 'Tis my lord come back from hunting — " 

And the Duchess claps her hands. 40 

Slow and tired, came the hunters — 

Stopp'd in darkness in the court. 
" — Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters ! 

To the hall ! What sport ? What sport ? " -^ 



THE CHURCH OF BROU 65 

Slow they enter'd with their master ; 45 

In the hall they laid him down. 
On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, 

On his brow an angry frown. 

Dead her princely youthful husband 

Lay before his youthful wife, 50 

Bloody, 'neath the flaring sconces — 

And the sight froze all her life. 

In Vienna, by the Danube, 

Kings hold revel, gallants meet. 
Gay of old amid the gayest 55 

Was the Duchess Marguerite. 

In Vienna, by the Danube, 

Feast and dance her youth beguiled. 

Till that hour she never sorrow'd ; 

But from then she never smiled. 60 

'Mid the Savoy mountain valleys 

Far from town or haunt of man, 
Stands a lonely church, unfinish'd. 

Which the Duchess Maud began ; 

Old, that Duchess stern began it, 65 

In grey age, with palsied hands ; 
But she died while it was building. 

And the Church unfinish'd stands — 

Stands as erst° the builders left it. 

When she sank into her grave ; 70 

Mountain greensward paves the chancel, ° 

Harebells flower in the nave.° 



66 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

^* — In my castle all is sorrow," 
Said the Duchess Marguerite then ; 

"Guide me, some one, to the mountain ! 75 

We will build the Church again." — 

SandalPd palmers," faring homeward, 
Austrian knights from Syria came. 

" — Austrian wanderers bring, warders ! 

Homage to your Austrian dame." — So 

From the gate the warders answer'd : 
" — Gone, knights, is she you knew! 

Dead our Duke, and gone his Duchess ; 
Seek her at the Church of Brou ! " — 

Austrian knights and march-worn palmers 85 

Climb the winding mountain-way — 

Keach the valley, where the Fabric 
Rises higher day by day. 

Stones are sawing, hammers ringing; 

On the work the bright sun shines, 90 

In the Savoy mountain-meadows, 

By the stream, below the pines. 

On her palfry white the Duchess 

Sate and watch'd her working train — 

Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders, 95 

German masons, smiths from Spain. 

Clad in black, on her white palfrey. 
Her old architect beside — 



THE CHURCH OF BROU 67 

There they found her in the mountains, 

Morn and noon and eventide. loo 

There she sate, and watch'd the builders, 
Till the Church was roofd and done. 

Last of all, the builders rear'd her 
In the nave a tomb of stone. 

On the tomb two forms they sculptured, 105 

Lifelike in the marble pale — 
One, the Duke in helm and armour ; 

One, the Duchess in her veil. 

Round the tomb the carved stone fretwork° 

Was at Easter-tide put on. no 

Then the Duchess closed her labours j 
And she died at the St. John. 

II 

THE CHURCH 

Upon the glistening leaden roof 

Of the new Pile, the sunlight shines ; 

The stream goes leaping by. 
The hills are clothed with pines sun-proof ; 
^Mid bright green fields, below the pines, 5 

Stands the Church on high. 
What Church is this, from men aloof ? — 
'Tis the Church of Brou. 

At sunrise, from their dewy lair 
Crossing the stream, the kine are seen 10 

Round the wall to stray — 



68 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

The churchyard wall that clips the square 
Of open hill-swarcl fresh and green 

Where last year they lay. 
But all things now are order'd fair 15 

Round the Church of Brou. 

On Sundays, at the matin-chime,° 
The Alpine peasants, two and three, 

Climb up here to pray ; 
Burghers and dames, at summer's prime, 20 

Bide out to church from Chambery,° 

Dight° with mantles gay. 
But else it is a lonely time 
Round the Church of Brou. 

On Sundays, too, a priest doth come 25 

From the wall'd town beyond the pass, 

Dow^n the mountain-way ; 
And then you hear the organ's hum, 
You hear the white-robed priest say mass, 

And the people pray. 30 

But else the woods and fields are dumb 
Round the Church of Brou. 

And after church, when mass is done. 
The people to the nave repair 

Round the tomb to stray ; 35 

And marvel at the Forms of stone, 
And praise the chisell'd broideries" rare — 

Then they drop away. 
The princely Pair are left alone 
In the Church of Brou. 40 



THE CHURCH OF BROU 69 



III 



THE TOMB 

So rest, for ever rest, princely Pair ! 

In your high church, 'mid the still mountain-air, 

Where horn, and hound, and vassals, never come. 

Only the blessed Saints are smiling dumb. 

From the rich painted windows of the nave, 5 

On aisle, and transept," and your marble grave ; 

Where thou, young Prince ! shalt never more arise 

From the fringed mattress where thy Duchess lies, 

On autumn-mornings, when the bagle sounds, 

And ride across the drawbridge with thy hounds lo 

To hunt the boar in the crisp woods till eve ; 

And thou, Princess ! shalt no more receive, 

Thou and thy ladies, in the hall of state. 

The jaded hunters with their bloody freight, 

Coming benighted to the castle-gate. 15 

So sleep, for ever sleep, marble Pair ! 
Or, if ye wake, let it be then, when fair 
On the carved western front a flood of light 
Streams from the setting sun, and colours bright 
Prophets, transfigured Saints, and Martyrs brave, 20 
In the vast western window of the nave ; 
And on the pavement round the Tomb there glints 
A chequer-work of glowing sapphire-tints, 
And amethyst, and ruby — then unclose 
Your eyelids on the stone where ye repose, 25 

And from your broider'd pillows lift your heads, 
And rise upon your cold white mai'ble beds j 



70 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And, looking down on the warm rosy tints, 

Which chequer, at your feet, the illumined flints. 

Say : What is this ? we are in bliss — forgiven — 30 

Behold the pavement of the courts of Heaven ! 

Or let it be on autumn nights, when rain 

Doth rustlingly above your heads complain 

On the smooth leaden roof, and on the walls 

Shedding her pensive light at intervals 35 

The moon through the clere-story windows shines. 

And the wind washes through the mountain-pines. 

Then, gazing up 'mid the dim pillars high, 

The foliaged marble forest° where ye lie. 

Hush, ye will say, it is eternity ! 40 

This is the glimmering verge of Heaven, and these 

The columns of the heavenly palaces ! 

And, in the sweeping of the wind, your ear 

The passage of the Angels' wings will hear, 

And on the lichen-crusted leads° above 45 

The rustle of the eternal rain of love. 



REQUIESCAT° 

Strew on her roses, roses. 
And never a spray of yew ! 

In quiet she reposes ; 

Ah, would that I did too ! 

Her mirth the world required ; 

She bathed it in smiles of glee. 
But her heart was tired, tired, 

And now they let her be. 



CONSOLATION 71 

Her life was turning, turning, 

In mazes of heat and sound. lo 

But for peace her soul was yearning, 

And now peace laps her round. 

Her cabin'd,° ample spirit. 

It flutter'd and fail'd for breath 
To-night it doth inherit ii; 

The vasty ° hall of death. 



CONSOLATION 

Mist clogs the sunshine. 
Smoky dwarf houses 
Hem me round everywhere; 
A vague dejection 
Weighs down my soul. 

Yet, while I languish, 
Everywhere countless 
Prospects unroll themselves, 
And countless beings 
Pass countless moods. 

Far hence, in Asia, 

On the smooth convent-roofs, 

On the gilt terraces, 

Of holy Lassa,° 

Bright shines the sun. 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Grey time-worn marbles 

Hold the pure Muses° ; 

In their cool gallery ,° 

By yellow Tiber,° 

They still look fair. 20 

Strange unloved uproar° • 

Shrills round their portal ; 

Yet not on Helicon" 

Kept they more cloudless 

Their noble calm. 25 

Through sun-proof alleys 

In a lone, sand-hemm'd 

City of Africa, 

A blind, led beggar, 

Age-bow'd, asks alms. 30 

No bolder robber 

Erst° abode ambush'd 

Deep in the sandy waste ; 

No clearer eyesight 

Spied prey afar. 35 

Saharan sand-winds 

Sear'd his keen eyeballs ; 

Spent is the spoil he won. 

For him the present 

Holds only pain. 40 

Two young, fair lovers, 
Where the warm June-wind, 



CONSOLATION 73 

Fresh from the summer fields 

Plays fondly round them, 

Stand, tranced in joy. 45 

With sweet, join'd voices, 

And with eyes brimming : 

" Ah," they cry, " Destiny,° 

Prolong the present ! 

Time, stand still here ! " 50 

The prompt stern Goddess 

Shakes her head, frowning ; 

Time gives his hour-glass 

Its due reversal; 

Their hour is gone. 55 

With weak indulgence 

Did the just Goddess 

Lengthen their happiness, 

She lengthen'd also 

Distress elsewhere. i 

The hour, whose happy 

Unalloy'd moments 

I would eternalise. 

Ten thousand mourners 

Well pleased see end. 65 

The bleak, stern hour. 

Whose severe moments 

I would annihilate, 

Is pass'd by others 

In warmth, light, joy. 70 



74 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Time, so complain'd of, 
Who to no one man 
Shows partiality, 
Brings round to all men 
Some undimm'd hours. 



A DEEAM 

Was it a dream ? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd, 
Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream, 
Border'd, each bank, with pines; the morning sun. 
On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops, 
On the red pinings of their forest-floor. 
Drew a warm scent abroad ; behind the pines 
The mountain-skirts, with all their sylvan change 
Of bright-leaf'd chestnuts and moss'd walnut-trees 
And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began. 
Swiss chalets glitter'd on the dewy slopes. 
And from some swarded shelf, high up, there came 
Notes of wild pastoral music — over all 
Eanged, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow. 
Upon the mossy rocks at the stream's edge, 
Back'd by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood. 
Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plant's leaves 
Muffled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof 
Lay the warm golden gourds ; golden, within, 
Under the eaves, peer'd rows of Indian corn. 
We shot beneath the cottage with the stream. 
On the brown, rude-carved balcony, two forms 
Came forth — Olivia's, Marguerite ! and thine. 



LINES 75 

Clad were they both in white, flowers in their breast ; 
Straw hats becleck'd their heads, with ribbons blue, 
Which danced, and on their shoulders, fluttering, play'd. 
They saw us, they conferr'd ; their bosoms heaved, 26 
And more than mortal impulse fill'd their eyes. 
Their lips moved ; their white arms, waved eagerly, 
Flash'd once, like falling streams ; we rose, we gazed. 
One moment, on the rapid's top, our boat 30 

Hung poised — and then the darting river of Life 
(Such now, methought, it was), the river of Life, 
Loud thundering, bore us by; swift, swift it foam'd, 
Black under cliffs it raced, round headlands shone. 
Soon the plank'd cottage by the sun-warm'd pines 35 

Faded — the moss — the rocks ; us burning plains, 
Bristled with cities, us the sea received. 



LINES^ 



WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS 

In this lone, open glade I lie, 

Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand ; 

And at its end, to stay the eye, 

T.'iose black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees° stand ! 

Birds here make song, each bird has his, 

Across the girdling city's hum. 

How green under the boughs it is ! 

How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come ! 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Sometimes a child will cross the glade 

To take his nurse his broken toy ; lo 

Sometimes a thrush flit overhead 

Deep in her unknown day's employ. 

Here at my feet what wonders pass, 

What endless, active life is here° ! 

What blowing daisies, fragrant grass! 15 

An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear. 

Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod 

Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out, 

And, eased of basket and of rod, 

Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. 20 

In the huge world,° which roars hard by, 

Be others happy if they can ! 

But in my helpless cradle I 

Was breathed on by the rural Pan.° 

I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd, 25 

Think often, as I hear them rave. 
That peace has left the upper world 
And now keeps only in the grave. 

Yet here is peace for ever new ! 

When "I who watch them am away, 30 

Still all things in this glade go through 

The changes of their quiet day. 

Then to their happy rest they pass ! 
The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, 
■ The night comes down upon the grass, 35 

The' child sleeps warmly in his bed. 



THE STRAYED REVELLER 77 

Calm soul of all things ! make it mine 

To feel, amid the city's jar, 

That there abides a peace of thine, 

Man did not make, and cannot mar. 40 

The will to neither strive nor cry. 
The power to feel with others give" ! 
Calm, calm me more ! nor let me die 
Before I have begun to live. 



THE STRAYED REVELLER" 

The Portico of Circe's Palace. Evening. 



TJie Youth. Faster, faster, 

Circe, Goddess, 

Let the wild, thronging train, 
The bright procession 
Of eddying forms. 
Sweep through my soul ! 

Thou standest, smiling 

Down on me ! thy right arm, 

Lean'd up against the column there, 

Props thy soft cheek ; 

Thy left holds, hanging loosely, 

The deep cup, ivy-cinctured,° 

1 held but now. 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Is it, then, evening 

So soon ? I see, the night-dews, 15 

Ckister'd in thick beads, dim 

The agate brooch-stones 

On thy white shoulder ; 

The cool night-wind, too, 

Blows through the portico, . 20 

Stirs thy hair. Goddess, 

Waves thy white robe ! 

Circe. Whence art thou, sleeper ? 

The Youth. When the white dawn first 
Through the rough fir-planks 25 

Of my hut, by the chestnuts. 
Up at the valley-head. 
Came breaking. Goddess ! 
I sprang up, I threw round me 
My dappled fawn-skin ; 30 

Passing out, from the wet turf. 
Where they lay, by the hut door, 
I snatch'd up my vine-crown, my fir-staff, 
All drench'd in dew — 

Came swift down to join 35 

The rout° early gather'd 
In the town, round the temple, 
Iacchus'° white fane° 
On yonder hill. 

Quick I pass'd, following 40 

The wood-cutters' cart-track 
Down the dark valley ; — I saw 
On my left, through the beeches, 



THE STRAYED REVELLER 79 

Thy palace, Goddess, 

Smokeless, empty ! 45 

Trembling, I enter'd ; beheld 

The court all silent. 

The- lions sleeping," 

On the altar this bowl. 

I drank. Goddess ! 50 

And sank down here, sleeping, 

On the steps of thy portico. 

Circe. Foolish boy ! Why tremblest thou? 
Thou lovest it, then, my wine ? 
Wouldst more of it ? See, how glows, 55 

Through the delicate, flush'd marble, 
The red, creaming liquor, 
Strown with dark seeds ! 
Drink, then ! I chide thee not. 
Deny thee not my bowl. 60 

Come, stretch forth thy hand, then — so ! 
Drink — drink again ! 

TJie Youth. Thanks, gracious one ! 
Ah, the sweet fumes again ! 
More soft, ah me, 65 

More subtle-winding 
Than Pan's flute-music 1° 
Faint — faint ! Ah me, 
Again the sweet sleep ! 

Circe. Hist ! Thou — within there ! 70 

Come forth, Ulysses° ! 
Art° tired with hunting ? 
While we range° the woodland, 
See what the day brings. ° 



80 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Ulysses. Ever new magic ! 75 

Hast thou then lured hither, 
Wonderful Goddess, by thy art, 
The young, languid-eyed Ampelus, 
lacchus' darling — 

Or some youth beloved of Pan, 80 

Of Pan and the Nymphs° ? 
That he sits, bending downward 
His white, delicate neck 
To the ivy-wreathed marge 
Of thy cup ; the bright, glancing vine-leaves 85 
That crown his hair. 
Falling forward, mingling 
With the dark ivy-plants — 
His fawn-skin, half untied, 
Smear'd with red wine-stains ? Who is he, 90 
That he sits, overweigh'd 
By fumes of wine and sleep, 
So late, in thy portico ? 
What youth. Goddess, — what guest 
Of Gods or mortals ? , 95 

Circe. Hist ! he wakes ! 
I lured him not hither, Ulysses. 
Nay, ask him ! 

The Youth. Who speaks? Ah, who comes forth 
To thy side, Goddess, from within ? 100 

How shall I name him ? 
This spare, dark-featured, 
Quick-eyed stranger ? 
Ah, and I see too 
His sailor's bonnet, 105 



THE STRAYED REVELLER 81 

His short coat, travel-tarnish'd, 

With one arm bare° ! — 

Art thou not he, whom fame 

This long time rumours 

The favoured guest of Circe,° brought by the waves ? 

Art thou he, stranger? m 

The wise Ulysses, 

Laertes' son ? 

Ulysses. I am Ulysses. 
And thou, too, sleeper ? n- 

Thy voice is sweet. 
It may be thou hast follow'd 
Through the islands some divine bard, 
By age taught many things. 

Age and the Muses° ; 120 

And heard him delighting 
The chiefs and people 
In the banquet, and learn'd his songs, 
Of Gods and Heroes, 

Of war and arts, . 125 

And peopled cities. 
Inland, or built 

By the grey sea. — If so, then hail ! 
I honour and welcome thee. 

TJie Youth. The Gods are happy. ^ 130 

They turn on all sides 
Their shining eyes. 
And see below them * 
The exirth and men.° 

They see Tiresias° 135 

Sitting, staff in hand, 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

On the warm, grassy 

Asopus° bank, 

His robe drawn over 

His old, sightless head, 140 

Kevolving inly 

The doom of Thebes.° 

They see the Centaurs° 

In the upper glens 

Of Pelion,° in the streams, 145 

Where red-berried ashes fringe 

The clear-brown shallow pools. 

With streaming flanks, and heads 

Kear'd proudly, snuffing 

The mountain wind. 150 

They see the Indian 

Drifting, knife in hand, 

His frail boat moor'd to 

A floating isle thick-matted 

With large-leaved, low-creeping melon-plants, 155 

And the dark cucumber. 

He reaps, and stows them, 

Drifting — drifting ; — round him, 

Bound his green harvest-plot. 

Flow the cool lake-waves, 160 

The mountains ring them.° 

They see the Scythian 

On the wide stepp, unharnessing 

His wheeFd house at noon. 

He tethers his beast down, and inakes his meal — 165 

Mares' milk, and bread 



THE STRAYED REVELLER 83 

Baked on the embers° ; — all around 

The boundless, waving grass-plains stretch, thick- 

starr'd 
With saffron and the yellow hollyhock 
And flag-leaved iris-flowers. 170 

Sitting in his cart 

He makes his meal; before him, for long miles. 
Alive with bright green lizards, 
And the springing bustard-fowl, 
The track, a straight black line, 175 

Furrows the rich soil ; here and there 
Clusters of lonely mounds 
Topp'd with rough-hewn. 
Grey, rain-blear'd statues, overpeer 
The sunny waste. ° 180 

They see the ferry 

On the broad, clay-laden 

Lone Chorasmian stream"; — thereon, 

With snort and strain, 

Two horses, strougly swimming, tow 185 

The ferry-boat, with woven ropes 

To either bow 

Firm harness'd by the mane ; a chief. 

With shout and shaken spear, 

Stands at the prow, and guides them ; but astern 190 

The cowering merchants, in long robes. 

Sit pale beside their wealth 

Of silk-bales and of balsam-drops, 

Of gold and ivory. 

Of turquoise-earth and amethyst, 195 

Jasper and chalcedony. 

And milk-barr'd onyx-stones.° 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLB 

The loaded boat swings groaning 

In the yellow eddies ; 

The Gods behold them. 200 

They see the Heroes 

Sitting in the dark ship 

On the foamless, long-heaving 

Violet sea, 

At sunset nearing 205 

The Happy Islands. ° 

These things, Ulysses, 
The wise bards also 
Behold and sing. 

But oh, what labour ! 210 

prince, what pain ! 

They too can see 

Tiresias ; — but the Gods, 

Who give them vision, 

Added this law : 215 

That they should bear too 

His groping blindness, 

His dark foreboding, 

His scorn'd white hairs ; 

Bear Hera's anger° ^ 220 

Through a life lengthened 

To seven ages. 

They see the Centaurs 

On Pelion ; — ;then they feel, 

They too, the maddening wine 225 

Swell their large veins to bursting; in wild pain 

They feel the biting spears 



THE STRAYED REVELLER 85 

Of the grim Lapithse," and Thesens,° drive, 

Drive crashing through their bones° ; they feel 

High on a jutting rock in the red stream 230 

Alcmena's dreadful son° 

Ply his bow ; — such a price 

The Gods exact for song : 

To become what we sing. 

They see the Indian 235 

On his mountain lake ; but squalls 

Make their skiff reel, and worms 

In the unkind spring have gnawn 

Their melon-harvest to the heart. — They see 

The Scythian ; but long frosts 240 

Parch them in winter-time on the bare stepp, 

Till they too fade like grass ; they crawl 

Like shadows forth in spring. 

They see the merchants 

On the Oxus stream° ; — but care 245 

Must visit lirst them too, and make them pale. 

Whether, through whirling sand, 

A cloud of desert robber-horse have burst 

Upon their caravan ; or greedy kings, 

In the wall'd cities the way passes through, 250 

Crush'd them with tolls ; or fever-airs, 

On some great river's marge. 

Mown them down, far from home. 

They see the Heroes° 

Near harbour ; — but they share 255 

Their lives, and former violent toil in Thebes, 
Seven-gated Thebes, or Troy° ; 



86 SELECTIONS FROM A UN OLD 

Or where the echoing oars 

Of Argo first 

Startled the unknown sea.° 260 

The okl Silenus° 

Came, lolling in the sunshine, 

From the dewy forest-coverts, 

This way, at noon. 

Sitting by me, while his Fauns 265 

Down at the water-side 

Sprinkled and smoothed 

His drooping garland, 

He told me these things. 

But I, Ulysses, 270 

Sitting on the warm steps, 

Looking over the valley. 

All day long, have seen, 

Without pain, without labour. 

Sometimes a wild-hair'd Ma3nad° — 275 

Sometimes a Faun with torches° — 

And sometimes, for a moment. 

Passing through the dark stems 

Flowing-robed, the beloved. 

The desired, the divine, 280 

Beloved lacchus. 

Ah, cool night- wind, tremulous stars ! 

Ah, glimmering water. 

Fitful earth-murmur. 

Dreaming woods ! - 285 

Ah, golden-hair'd, strangely smiling Goddess, 

And thou, proved, much enduring, 



MORALITY 87 

Wave-toss'd Wanderer ! 

Who can stand still ? 

Ye fade, ye swim, ye waver before me — 290 

The cup again ! 

Faster, faster, 

O Circe, Goddess, 

Let the wild, thronging train, 

The bright procession 295 

Of eddying forms. 

Sweep through my soul ! 



MORALITY 

We cannot kindle when we will 

The fire which in the heart resides ; 

The spirit bloweth and is still, 

In mystery our soul abides. 

But tasks in hours of insight wilPd 
Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd. 

With aching hands and bleeding feet 
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; 
We bear the burden and the heat 
Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. 
Not till the hours of light return, 
All we have built do we discern. 

Then, when the clouds are off the soul, 
When thou dost bask in Nature's eye, 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Ask, how she view'd thy self-control, 15 

Thy struggling, task'd morality — 
Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air, 
Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair. 

And she, whose censure thou dost dread. 
Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek, 20 

See, on her face a glow is spread, 
A strong emotion on her cheek ! 

" Ah, child ! " she cries, " that strife divine, 

Whence was it, for it is not mine ? 

'^ There is no effort on my brow — 25 

I do not strive, I do not weep ; 

I rush with the swift spheres and glow 

In joy, and when I will, I sleep. 

Yet that severe, that earnest air, 

I saw, I felt it once — but where ? 30 

" I knew not yet the gauge of time, 
Nor wore the manacles of space ; 
I felt it in some other clime, 
I saw it in some other place. 

^Twas when the heavenly house I trod, 35 

And lay upon the breast of God." 



DOVEE BEACH 

The sea is calm to-night. 

The tide is full, the moon lies fair 



DOVER BEACH 89 

Upon the straits ; — on the French coast the light 

Gleams and is gone ; the cliffs of England stand, 

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. 5 

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air ! 

Only, from the long line of spray 

Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land, 

Listen ! you hear the grating roar 

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 10 

At their return, up the high strand. 

Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 

The eternal note of sadness in. 

Sophocles° long ago 15 

Heard it on the ^Eg8ean,° and it brought 

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow 

Of human misery ; we 

Find also in the sound a thought. 

Hearing it by this distant northern sea. 20 

The Sea of Faith 

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore 

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd. 

But now I only hear 

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, 25 

Betreating, to the breath 

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear 

And naked shingles of the world. 

Ah, love, let us be true 

To one another ! for the world, which seems 30 

To lie before us like a land of dreams, 

So various, so beautiful, so new. 

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light. 



90 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain ; 
And we are here as on a darkling plain 35 

Swept with confused alarms of straggle and flight, 
Where ignorant armies clash by night. 



PHILOMELA^ 

Hark ! ah, the nightingale — 

The tawny-throated ! 

Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! 

What triumph ! hark ! — what pain° ! 

O wanderer from a Grecian shore,° 

Still, after many years, in distant lands, 

Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain 

That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain'^ 

Say, will it never heal ? 

And can this fragrant lawn 

With its cool trees, and night. 

And the sweet, tranquil Thames, 

And moonshine, and the dew. 

To thy rack'd heart and brain 

Afford no balm ? 

Dost thou to-night behold. 

Here, through the moonlight on this English grass, 

The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild° ? 

Dost thou again peruse 

With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes 

The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame° ? 

Dost thou once more assay 



HUMAN LIFE 91 

Thy flight, and feel come over thee, 

Poor fugitive, the feathery change 

Once more, and once more seem to make resound 25 

With love and hate, triumph and agony, 

Lone Daulis,° and the high Cephissian vale° ? 

Listen, Eugenia — 

How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves" ! 

Again — thou hearest ? 30 

Eternal passion ! 

Eternal pain° ! 

HUMAN LIFE 

What mortal, when he saw. 

Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend, 

Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly : 

" I have kept uninfringed my nature's law° ; 

The inly-written chart° thou gavest me, 5 

To guide me, I have steer'd by to the end " ? 

Ah ! let us make no claim, 

On life's incognisable° sea, 

To too exact a steering of our way ; 

Let us not fret and fear to miss our aim, 10 

If some fair coast have lured us to make stay, 

Or some friend hail'd us to keep company. 

Ay ! we would each fain drive 

At random, and not steer by rule. 

Weakness ! and worse, weakness bestow'd in vain 15 

Winds from our side the unsuiting consort rive, 

We rush by coasts where we had lief remain ; 

Man cannot, though he would, live chance's fool. 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

No ! as the foaming swath 

Of torn-up water, on the main, 

Falls heavily away with long-drawn roar 

On either side the black deep-furrow'd path 

Cut by an onward-labouring vessel's prore,° 

And never touches the ship-side again ; 

Even so we leave behind, 
As, charter'd by some unknown Powers, 
We stem° across the sea of life by night. 
The joys which were not for our use design'd : 
The friends to whom we had no natural right, 
The homes that were not destined to be ours. 



ISOLATION 

To Marguerite 

Yes° ! in the sea of life enisled. 

With echoing straits between us thrown, 

Dotting the shoreless watery wild, 

We mortal millions live alone. 

The islands feel the enclasping flow. 

And then their endless bounds they know. 

But when the moon° their hollows lights, 
And they are swept by balms of spring. 
And in their glens, on starry nights. 
The nightingales divinely sing ; 
And lovely notes, from shore to shore. 
Across the sounds and channels pour — 



30 



KAISER DEAD 93 

Oh ! then a longing like despair 

Is to their farthest caverns sent ; 

For surely once, they feel, we were 15 

Parts of a single continent ! 

Now round us spreads the watery plain — 

Oh might our marges meet again ! 

Who order'd, that their longing's fire 

Should be, as soon as kindled, cool'd ? 20 

Who renders vain their deep desire ? — 

A. God, a God their severance ruled ! 

And bade betwixt their shores to be ^ 

The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.° 



KAISEE DEAD"' 

Ajjril 6, 1887 

What, Kaiser dead ? The heavy news 
Post-haste to Cobham° calls the Muse, 
Prom where in Parringford° she brews 

The ode sublime. 
Or with Pen-bryn's bold bard° pursues 

A rival rhyme. 

Kai's bracelet tail, Kai's busy feet, 
Were known to all the village-street. 
"What, poor Kai dead ? " say all I meet ; 

"A loss indeed!" 
for the croon pathetic, sweet, 

Of Robin's reed° 1 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Six years ago I brought him down, 

A baby dog, from London town ; 

Round his small throat of black and brown 15 

A ribbon blue, 
And vouch'd by glorious renown 

A dachshound true. 

His mother, most majestic dame. 

Of blood-unmix'd, from Potsdam° came ; 20 

And Kaiser's race we deem'd the same — 

No lineage higher. 
And so he bore the imperial name. 

But ah, his sire ! 

Soon, soon the days conviction bring. 25 

The collie hair, the collie swing, 
The tail's indomitable ring. 

The eye's unrest — 
The case was clear ; a mongrel thing 

Kai stood confest. 30 

But all those virtues, which commend 
The humbler sort who serve and tend, 
Were thine in store, thou faithful friend. 

What sense, what cheer ! 
To us, declining tow'rds our end, 35 

A mate how dear ! 

For Max, thy brother-dog, began 
To flag, and feel his narrowing span. 
And cold, besides, his blue blood ran, 

Since, 'gainst the classes, 40 

He heard, of late, the Grand Old Man° 

Incite the masses. 



KAISER DEAD 95 

Yes, Max and we grew slow and sad ; 

But Kai, a tireless shepherd-lad, 

Teeming with plans, alert, and glad 45 

In work or play. 
Like sunshine went and came, and bade 

Live out the day ! 

Still, still I see the figure smart — 

Trophy in mouth, agog° to start, 50 

Then, home returned, once more depart; 

Or prest together 
Against thy mistress, loving heart, 

Li winter weather. 

I see the tail, like bracelet twirl'd, 55 

In moments of disgrace uncurl'd. 
Then at a pardoning word re-furl'd, 

A conquering sign ; 
Crying, " Come on, and range the world, 

!A.nd never pine." 60 

Thine eye was bright, thy coat it shone ;' - 
Thou hast thine errands, off and on ; 
In joy thy last morn flew ; anon, 

A fit ! All's over ; 
And thou art gone where Geist° hath gone, 65 

And Toss, and Rover. 

Poor Max, with downcast, reverent head. 
Regards his brother's form outspread; 
Full well Max knows the friend is dead 

Whose cordial talk, 70 

And jokes in doggish language said. 

Beguiled his walk. 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And Glory, stretch'd at Burwood gate, 

Thy passing by doth vainly wait ; 

And jealous Jock, thy only hate, 75 

The chier from Skye,° 
Lets from his shaggy Highland pate 

Thy memory die. 

Well, fetch his graven collar fine, 

And rub the steel, and make it shine, 80 

And leave it round thy neck to twine, 

Kai, in thy grave. 
There of thy master keep that sign, 

And this plain stave. 



THE LAST WOED° 

Creep into thy narrow bed. 
Creep, and let no more be said ! 
Vain thy onset! all stands fast. 
Thou thyself must break at last. 

Let the long contention cease ! 
Geese are swans, and swans are geese. 
Let them have it how they will ! 
Thou art tired ; best be still. 

They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee ? 
Better men fared thus before thee ; 
Fired their ringing shot and pass'd, 
Hotly charged — and sank at last. 



PALLADIUM 97 

Charge once more, then, and be dumb ! 

Let the victors, when they come, 

When the forts of folly fall, 15 

Pind thy body by the wall ! 



PALLADIUlVr 

Set where the upper streams of Simois° flow 
Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood ; 
And Hector° was in Ilium, ° far below, 
And fought, and saw it not — but there it stood ! 

It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light 
On the pure columns of its glen-built hall. 
Backward and forward roll'd the waves of fight 
Round Troy — but while this stood, Troy could not fall. 

So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul. 

Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air; i 

Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll ; 

We visit it by moments, ah, too rare ! 

We shall renew the battle in the plain 
To-morrow; — red with blood will Xanthus° be; 
Hector and Ajax° will be there again, i 

Helen® will come upon the wall to see. 

Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife, 

And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs, 

And fancy that we put forth all our life. 

And never know how with the soul it fares. 2 



98 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high, 
Upon our life a ruling effluence send. 
A.nd when it fails, fight as we will, we die ; 
And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end. 



KEVOLUTIONS 

Before man parted for this earthly strand, 
While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood, 
God put a heap of letters in his hand. 
And bade him make with them what word he could. 

And man has turn'd them many times ; made Greece, 5 
Rome, England, France ; — yes, nor in vain essay'd 
Way after way, changes that never cease ! 
The letters have combined, something was made. 

But ah ! an inextinguishable sense 

Haunts him that he has not made what he should ; 10 

That he has still, though old, to recommence, 

Since he has not yet found the word God would. 

And empire after empire, at their height 

Of sway, have felt this boding sense come on ; 

Have felt their huge frames not constructed right, 15 

And droop'd, and slowly died upon their throne. 

One day, thou say'st, there will at last appear 
The word, the order, which God meant should be. 
— Ah ! we shall know tJiaf well when it comes near; 
The band will quit man's heart, he will breathe free. 20 



SELF-DEPENDENCE 99 



SELF-DEPENDENCE° 

Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
What I am, and what I ought to be, 
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. 

And a look of passionate desire 5 

O'er the sea and to the stars I send : 
" Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, 
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end ! 

" Ah, once more," I cried, " ye stars, ye waters. 
On my heart your mighty charm renew ; lo 

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, 
Feel my soul becoming vast like you ! " 

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven. 
Over the lit sea's unquiet way. 

In the rustling night-air came the answer : 15 

" Wouldst thou he as these are ? Live as they. 

" Unaffrighted by the silence round them, 
Undistracted by the sights they see. 
These demand not that the things without them 
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 20 

"And with joy the stars perform their shining. 
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll ; 
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul. 

L,o:c 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

" Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 25 

In what state God's other works may be, 
In their own tasks all their powers pouring, 
These attain the mighty life you see." 

air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, 

A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear : 30 

" Resolve to be thyself ; and know that he, 

Who finds himself, loses his misery ! " 



A SUMMER NIGHT 

In the deserted, moon-blanch'd street. 

How lonely rings the echo of my feet ! 

Those windows, which I gaze at, frown, 

Silent and white, unopening down, 

Repellent as the world ; — but see, 5 

A break between the housetops shows 

The moon ! and, lost behind her, fading dim 

Into the dewy dark obscurity .' 

Down at the far horizon's rim. 

Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose ! 10 

And to my mind the thought 

Is on a sudden brought 

Of a past night, and a far different scene. 

Headlands stood out into the moonlit deep 

As clearly as at noon ; 15 

The spring-tide's brimming flow 

Heaved dazzlingly between ; 

Houses, with long white sweep, 



A SUMMER NIGHT 101 

Girdled the glistening bay; 

Behind, through the soft air, 20 

The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away, 

The night was far more fair — 

But the same restless pacings to and fro, 

And the same vainly throbbing heart was there, 

And the same bright, calm moon. 25 

And the calm moonlight seems to say : 

Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast, 

Which neither deadeyis into rest, 

Nor ever feels the fiery glow 

Tliat whirls the spirit from itself away, 30 

But fluctuates to and fro. 

Never by passion quite j^ossess^d 

And never quite benumbed by the world's sway 9 — 

And I, I know not if to pray 

Still to be what I am, or yield and be 35 

Like all the other men I see. 

For most men in a brazen prison live. 

Where, in the sun's hot eye. 

With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly 

Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give, 40 

Dreaming of nought beyond their prison-wall. 

And as, year after year, 

Fresh products of their barren labour fall 

From their tired hands, and rest 

Never yet comes more near, 45 

Gloom settles slowly down over their breast ; 

A while they try to stem 

The waves of mournful thought by which they are prest, 



102 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And the rest, a few, 

Escape their prison and depart 50 

On the wide ocean of life anew. 

There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart 

Listeth, will sail ; 

Nor doth he know how these prevail, 

Despotic on that sea, 55 

Trade-winds which cross it from eternity. 

Awhile he holds some false way, undebarr'd . 

By thwarting signs, and braves 

The freshening wind and blackening waves 

And then the tempest strikes him ; and between 60 

The lightning-bursts is seen 

Only a driving wreck. 

And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck 

With anguished face and flying hair. 

Grasping the rudder hard, 65 

Still bent to make some port he knows not where, 

Still standing for some false, impossible shore. 

And sterner comes the roar 

Of sea and wind, and through the deepening gloom 

Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom 70 

And he, too, disappears and comes no more. 

Is there no life, but there alone ? 

Madman or slave, must man be one ? 

Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain! 

Clearness divine. 75 

Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign 

Of languor, though so calm, and though so great 

Are yet untroubled and unpassionate ; 

Who though so noble, share in the world's toil. 

And, though so task'd, keep free from dust and soil ! 80 



geist's grave 103 

I will not say that your mild deeps retain 

A tinge, it may be, of their silent pain 

Who have longed deeply once, and longed in vain — 

But I will rather say that you remain 

A world above man's head, to let him see 85 

How boundless might his soul's horizon be, 

How vast, yet of which clear transparency ! 

How it were good to live there, and breathe free ! 

How fair a lot to fill 

Is left to each man still ! ^ 90 



GEIST'S GRAVE° 

Four years ! — and didst thou stay above 
The ground, which hides thee now, but four ? 
And all that life, and all that love. 
Were crowded, Geist ! into no more ? 

Only four years those winning ways. 
Which make me for thy presence yearn, 
Call'd us to pet thee or to praise, 
Dear little friend ! at every turn ? 

That loving heart, that patient soul, 
Had they indeed no longer span. 
To run their course, and reach their goal, 
And read their homily° to man ? 

That liquid, melancholy eye, 

From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Seem'd surging the Virgilian cry,° 15 

The sense of tears in mortal things — 

That steadfast, mournful strain, consoled 

By spirits gloriously gay, 

And temper of heroic mould — 

What, was four years their whole short day ? 20 

Yes, only four ! — and not the course 
Of all the centuries yet to come, 
And not the infinite resource • 
Of Nature, with her countless sum 

Of figures, with her fulness vast 25 

Of new creation evermore. 
Can ever quite repeat the past, 
Or just thy little self restore. 

Stern law of every mortal lot ! 

Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear, 30 

And builds himself I know not what 

Of second life I know not where. 

But thou, when struck thine hour to go, 

On us, who stood despondent by, 

A meek last glance of love didst throw, 35 

And humbly lay thee down to die. 

Yet would we keep thee in our heart — 

Would fix our favourite on the scene. 

Nor let thee utterly depart 

And be as if thou ne'er hadst been. 40 



GEIST'S GRAVE 105 

And so there rise these lines of verse 

On lips that rarely form them now°; 

While to each other we rehearse: 

Such ways, such arts, such looks hadst thou ! 

We stroke thy broad brown paws again, 45 

We bid thee to thy vacant chair, 
We greet thee by the window-pane. 
We hear thy scufEe on the stair. 

We see the flaps of thy large ears 

Quick raised to ask which way we go ; 50 

Crossing the frozen lake, appears 

Thy small black figure on the snow ! 

Nor to us only art thou dear 

Who mourn thee in thine English home ; 

Thou hast thine absent master's" tear, 55 

Dropt by the far Australian foam. 

Thy memory lasts both here and there, 

And thou shalt live as long as we. 

And after that — thou dost not care ! 

In us was all the world to thee. 60 

Yet, fondly zealous for thy fame. 
Even to a date beyond our own 
We strive to carry down thy name, 
By mounded turf, and graven stone. 

We lay thee, close within our reach, 65 

Here, where the grass is smooth and warm, 
Between the holly and the beech. 
Where oft we watch'd thy couchant form. 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Asleep, yet lending half an ear 

To travellers on the Portsmouth road ; — 70 

There build we thee, guardian dear, 

Mark'd with a stone, thy last abode ! 

Then some, who through this garden pass, 
When we too, like thyself, are clay, 
Shall see thy grave upon the grass, 75 

And stop before the stone, and say : 

People wJio lived here loyig ago 

Did by tJiis stone, it see7ns, intend 

To name for future times to know 

The dachs-hound, Geist, their little friend. 80 



EPILOGUE 

TO lessing's LA0C00N° 

One morn as through Hyde Park° we walk'd. 

My friend and I, by chance we talk'd 

Of Lessing's famed Laocoon ; 

And after we awhile had gone 

In Lessing's track, and tried to see 

What painting is, what poetry — 

Diverging to another thought, 

" Ah," cries my friend, " but who hath taught 

Why music and the other arts 

Oftener perform aright their parts 

Than poetry ? why she, than they, 

Fewer line successes can display ? 



EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON 107 

" For 'tis so, surely ! Even in Greece, 

Where best the poet framed his piece. 

Even in that Phoebus-guarded ground° 15 

Pausanias° on his travels found 

Good poems, if he look'd, more rare 

(Though many) than good statues were — 

For these, in truth, were everywhere. 

Of bards full many a stroke divine 20 

In Dante's,° Petrarch's," Tasso's° line, 

The land of Ariosto° show'd ; 

And yet, e'en there, the canvas glow'd 

With triumphs, a yet ampler brood. 

Of RaphaeF and his brotherhood. 25 

And nobly perfect, in our day 

Of haste, half-work, and disarray, 

Profound yet touching, sweet yet strong. 

Hath risen Goethe's,° Wordsworth's" song ; 

Yet even I (and none will bow 30 

Deeper to these) must needs allow. 

They yield us not, to soothe our pains, 

Such multitude of heavenly strains 

As from the kings of sound are blown, 

Mozart," Beethoven," Mendelssohn." " 35 

While thus my friend discoursed, we pass 

Out of the path, and take the grass. 

The grass had still the green of May, 

And still the unblacken'd elms were gay ; 

The kine were resting in the shade, 40 

The flies a summer-murmur made. 

Bright was the morn and south" the air ; 

The soft-couch'd cattle were as fair 

As those which pastured by the sea, 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

That old-world morn, in Sicily, 45 

When on the beach the Cyclops lay, 

And Galatea from the bay 

Mock'd her poor lovelorn giant's lay.° 

" Behold," I said, " the painter's sphere ! 

The limits of his art appear. 50 

The passing group, the summer-morn. 

The grass, the elms, that blossom'd thorn — 

Those cattle couch'd, or, as they rise. 

Their shining flanks, their liquid eyes — 

These, or much greater things, but caught 55 

Like these, and in one aspect brought ! 

In outward semblance he must give 

A moment's life of things that live ; 

Then let him choose his moment well, 

With power divine its story tell." 60 

Still we walk'd on, in thoughtful mood, 

And now upon the bridge we stood. 

Full of sweet breathings was the air. 

Of sudden stirs and pauses fair. 

Down o'er the stately bridge the breeze 65 

Came rustling from the garden-trees 

And on the sparkling waters play'd ; 

Light-plashing waves an answer made, 

And mimic boats their haven near'd. 

Beyond, the Abbey-towers° appear'd, 70 

By mist and chimneys unconfined. 

Free to the sweep of light and wind ; 

While through their earth-moor'd nave below 

Another breath of wind doth blow, 

Sound as of wandering breeze — but sound 75 

In laws by human artists bound. 



EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON 109 

"The world of music° ! " I exclaimed : — 

" This breeze that rustles by, that famed 

Abbey recall it ! what a sj^here 

Large and profound, hath genius here ! 80 

The inspired musician what a range. 

What power of passion, wealth of change 

Some source of feeling he must choose 

And its lock'd fount of beauty use, 

And through the stream of music tell 85 

Its else unutterable spell ; 

To choose it rightly is his part, 

And press into its inmost heart. 

^^ Miserere Domine° ! 

The words are utter'd, and they flee. .90 

Deep is their penitential moan, 

Mighty their pathos, but 'tis gone. 

They have declared the spirit's sore 

Sore load, and words can do no more. 

Beethoven takes them then — tliose two 

Poor, bounded words — and makes them new ; 

Infinite makes them, makes them young ; 

Transplants them to another tongue. 

Where they can now, without constraint, 

Pour all the soul of their complaint, 100 

And roll adown a channel large 

The wealth divine they have in charge. 

Page after page of music turn. 

And still they live and still they burn, 

Eternal, passion-fraught, and free — 105 

Miserere Domine° ! " 

Onward we moved, and reach'd the Eide° 
Where gaily flows the human tide. 



95 



SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Afar, in rest the cattle lay ; 

We heard, afar, faint music play ; no 

But agitated, brisk, and near. 

Men, with their stream of life, were here. 

Some hang upon the rails, and some 

On foot behind them go and come. 

This through the Ride upon his steed . 115 

Goes slowly by, and this at speed. 

The young, the happy, and the fair, 

The old, the sad, the worn, were there ; 

Some vacant, ° and some musing went, 

And some in talk and merriment. 120 

Nods, smiles, and greetings, and farewells ! 

And now and then, perhaps, there swells 

A sigh, a tear — but in the throng 

All changes fast, and hies° along. 

Hies, ah, from whence, what native ground ? 125 

And to what goal, what ending, bound ? 

" Behold, at last the poet's sphere ! 

But who," I said, ''suffices here ? 

" For, ah ! so much he has to do ; 

Be painter and musician too° ! 130 

The aspect of the moment show. 

The feeling of the moment know ! 

The aspect not, I grant, express 

Clear as the painter's art can dress ; 

The feeling not, I grant, explore 135 

So deep as the musician's lore — 

But clear as words can make revealing, 

And deep as words can follow feeling. 

But, ah ! then conies his sorest spell 

Of toil — he must life's movemenf tell ! 140 



EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON 111 

The thread which binds it all in one, 

And not its separate parts alone. 

The movement he must tell of life, 

Its pain and pleasure, rest and strife ; 

His eye must travel down, at full, 145 

The long, unpausing spectacle ; 

With faithful unrelaxing force 

Attend it from its primal source, 

From change to change and year to year 

Attend it of its mid career. 

Attend it to the last repose 

And solemn silence of its close. 



150 



" The cattle rising from the grass 

His thought must follow where they pass ; 

The penitent with anguish bow'd 155 

His thought must follow through the crowd. 

Yes ! all this eddying, motley throng 

That sparkles in the sun along. 

Girl, statesman, merchant, soldier bold, 

Master and servant, young and old, 160 

Grave, gay, child, parent, husband, wife, 

He follows home, and lives their life. 

"And many, many are the souls 

Life's movement fascinates, controls; 

It draws them on, they cannot save 165 

Their feet from its alluring wave ; 

They cannot leave it, they must go 

With its unconquerable flow. 



But ah ! how few, of all that try 
This mighty march, do aught but 



but die ! 170 



112 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

For ill-endow'd for such a way, 

Ill-storecl in strength, in wits, are they. 

They faint, they stagger to and fro, 

And wandering from the stream they go ; 

In pain, in terror, in distress, 175 

They see, all round, a wilderness. 

Sometimes a momentary gleam 

They catch of the mysterious stream ; 

Sometimes, a second's space, their ear 

The murmur of its waves doth hear. 180 

That transient glimpse in song they say, 

But not of painter can pourtray — 

That transient sound in song they tell, 

But, not, as the musician, well. 

And when at last their snatches cease, 185 

And they are silent and at peace, 

The stream of life's majestic whole 

Hath ne'er been mirror'd on their soul. 

" Only a few the life-stream's shore 

With safe un wandering feet explore ; 190 

Untired its movement bright attend, 

Follow its windings to the end. 

Then from its brimming waves their eye 

Drinks up delighted ecstasy, 

And its deep-toned, melodious voice 195 

For ever makes their ear rejoice. 

They speak ! the happiness divine 

They feel, runs o'er in every line ; 

Its spell is round them like a shower — 

It gives them pathos, gives them power. 200 

No painter yet hath such a way, 

Nor no musician made, as they^ 



EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON 113 

And gather'd on immortal knolls 

Such lovely flowers for cheering souls. 

Beethoven, Eaphael, cannot reach 205 

The charm which Homer, Shakespeare, teach. 

To these, to these, their thankful race 

Grives, then, the first, the fairest place ; 

And brightest is their glory's sheen. 

For greatest hath their labour been.° " 210 



SONNETS 



QUIET WORK° 

One lesson,° Nature, let me learn of thee, 
One lesson which in every wind is blown. 
One lesson of two duties kept at one 
Though the loud° world proclaim their enmity — 

Of toil unsever'd from tranquillity ! 
Of labour, that in lasting fruit outgrows 
Far noisier° schemes, accomplish'd in repose, 
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry ! 

Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring, 
Man's fitful uproar mingling with his toil, 
Still do thy sleepless ministers move on, 

Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting ; _ 
Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil, 
Labourers that shall not fail, when man is gone. 



SHAKESPEARE^ 

Others abide our question. Thou art free. 
We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still. 
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, 
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, 
115 



116 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 5 

Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, 
Spares but the cloudy border of his base 
To the foil'd searching of mortality ; 

And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know, 
Self-schooPd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure, 
Didst tread on earth unguess'd at. — Better so ! n 

All pains the immortal spirit must endure, 

All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow, 

Find their sole speech in that victorious brow. 



YOUTH'S AGITATIONS" 

When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence, 
From this poor present self which I am no^ ; 
When youth has done its tedious vain expense 
Of passions that for ever ebb and flow ; 

Shall I not joy° youth's heats° are left behind, 
And breathe more happy in an even clime° ? — 
Ah no, for then I shall begin to find 
A thousand virtues in this hated time ! 

Then I shall wish its agitations back. 
And all its thwarting currents of desire ; 
Then I shall praise the heat which then I lack, 
And call this hurrying fever,° generous fire ; 

And sigh that one thing only has been lent 
To youth and age in common — discontent. 



WORLDLY PLACE 117 



AUSTEEITY OF POETRY 

That son of Italy° who tried to blow, 
Ere Dante° came, the trump of sacred song, 
In his light youth° amid a festal throng 
Sate with his bride to see a public show. 

Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow 
Youth like a star ; and what to youth belong — 
Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong. 
A prop gave way ! crash fell a platform ! lo, 

'Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay ! 
Shuddering, they drew her garments off — and found 
A robe of sackcloth° next the smooth, white skin. 

Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse ! young, gay, 
Radiant, adorn' d outside ; a hidden ground 
Of thought and of austerity within. 



WORLDLY PLACE 

E VEN^ in a palace, life may he led ivell ! 

So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, 

Marcus Aurelius.° But the stifling den 

Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell. 

Our freedom for a little bread we sell, 

And drudge under some foolish° master's ken° 



118 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Who rates° us if we peer outside our pen — 
Matched with a palace, is not this a hell ? 

Even in a palace ! On his truth sincere, 
Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came ; 
And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame 

Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, 

I'll stop, and say : " There were no succour here ! 

The aids to noble life are all within." 



EAST LONDON 

^TwAs August, and the fierce sun overhead 
Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,° 
And the pale weaver, through his windows seen 
In Spitalfields,° look'd thrice dispirited. 

I met a preacher there I knew, and said : 5 

" 111 and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene ? " — 
" Bravely ! " said he ; " for I of late have been 
Much cheer'd with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.^^ 

human soul ! as long as thou canst so 

Set up a mark of everlasting light, lo 

Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, 

To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam — 
Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night ! 
Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. 



WEST LONDON 119 



WEST LONDON 

Crouch'd on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square," 

A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied. 

A babe was in her arms, and at her side 

A girl ; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare. 

Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there, 5 
Pass'd opposite ; she touch'd her girl, who hied 
Across and begg'd, and came back satisfied. 
The rich she had let pass with frozen stare. 

Thought I : "Above her state this spirit towers; 

She will not ask of aliens, but of friends, 10 

Of sharers in a common human fate. 

" She turns from that cold succour, which attends 
The unknown little from the unknowing great, 
And points us to a better time than ours." 



ELEGIAC POEMS 

MEMORIAL VERSES° 

April, 1850 

Goethe in Weimar sleeps,° and Greece, 
Long since, saw Byron's° struggle cease. 
But one such death remain'd to come ; 
The last poetic voice is dumb — 
We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb. 

When Byron's eyes were shut in death, 
We bow'd our head and held our breath. 
He taught us little ; but our soul 
Had felt him like the thunder's roll. 
With shivering heart the strife we saw 
Of passion with eternal law ; 
And yet with reverential awe 
We watch' d the fount of fiery life 
Which served for that Titanic strife. 

When Goethe's death was told, we said : 
Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head. 
Physician of the iron age,° 
Goethe has done his pilgrimage. 
He took the suffering human race^ 
121 



122 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

He read each wound, each weakness clear f 20 

And struck his finger on the place, ^^^^ — x 

And said : Tliou ailest here, and here ! ^ 

He look'd on Europe's dying hour 

Of fitful dream and feverish power ; 

His QjQ plunged down the weltering strife, 25 

The turmoil of expiring life — 

He said : The end is everywhere, 

Art still has tridh, take refuge there ! 

And he was happy, if to know 

Causes of things, and far below 30 

His feet to see the lurid flow 

Of terror, and insane distress, 

And headlong fate, be happiness. 

And Wordsworth ! — Ah, pale ghosts, rejoice ! 
!For never has such soothing voice 35 

Been to your shadowy world convey'd, 
Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade 
Heard the clear song of Orpheus° come 
Through Hades, and the mournful gloom. 
Wordsworth has gone from us — and ye, , 40 

Ah, may ye feel his voice as we ! 
He too upon a wintry clime 
Had fallen — od this iron time 
Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. 
He found us when the age had bound 45 

^ Our souls in its benumbing round ; 

He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. 

He laid us as we lay at birth 

On the cool flowery lap of earth. 

Smiles broke from us and we had ease ; 50 

The hills were round us, and the breeze 



THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY 123 

Went o'er the sun-lit fields again ; 

Our foreheads felt the wind and rain. 

Our youth returned ; for there was shed 

On spirits that had long been dead, 55 

Spirits dried up and closely furl'd, 

The freshness of the early world. 

Ah ! since dark days still bring to light 

Man's prudence and man's fiery might, 

Time may restore us in his course 60 

Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force ; 

But where will Europe's latter hour 

Again find Wordsworth's healing power? 

Others will teach us how to dare, 

And against fear our breast to steel ; 65 

Others will strengthen us to bear — 

But who, ah ! who, will make us feel 

The cloud of mortal destiny ? 

Others will front it fearlessly — 

But who, like him, will put it by ? 70 

Keep fresh the grass upon his grave 
Rotha,° with thy living wave ! 
Sing him thy best ! for few or none 
Hears thy voice right, now he is gone. 



THE SCHOLAE-GIPSY" 

Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill ; 
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes°! 
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed, 



124 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats, 

Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head. 5 

But when the fields are still, 

And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest. 
And only the white sheep are sometimes seen 
Cross and recross° the strips of moon-blanch'd green, 

Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest ! lo 

Here, where the reaper was at work of late — 
In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves 

His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse,° 
And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves. 

Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use — 15 
Here will I sit and wait. 
While to my ear from uplands far away 

The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, 

With distant cries of reapers in the corn° — 
All the live murmur of a summer's day. 20 

Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field. 
And here till sun-down, shepherd ! will I be. 

Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep. 
And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see 

Pale pink convolvulus in tendrils creep ; 25 

And air-swept lindens yield 
Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers 

Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. 

And bower me from the August sun with shade ; 
And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. ° 30 

And near me on the grass lies GlanviPs book° — 
Come, let me read the oft-read tale again ! 
The story of the Oxford scholar poor. 



THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY 125 

Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain, 

Who, tired of knocking at preferment's door, 35 

One summer-morn forsook 

His friends, and went to learn the gipsy-lore. 

And roam'd the world with that wild brotherhood, 
And came, as most men deem'd, to little good, 

But came to Oxford and his friends no more. 40 

But once, years after, in the country-lanes, 
Two scholars, whom at college erst° he knew, 

Met him, and of his way of life enquired; 
Whereat he answer'd, that the gipsy-crew. 

His mates, had arts to rule as they desired 45 

The workings of men's brains. 
And they can bind them to what thoughts they will. 

" And I," he said, '' the secret of their art. 

When fully learn'd, will to the world impart ; 
But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill. ° " 50 

This said, he left them, and return'd no more. — 
But rumours hung about the country-side. 

That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray. 
Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied. 

In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey, 55 

The same the gipsies wore. 
Shepherds had met him on the Hurst° in spring ; 

At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors,° 

On the warm ingle-bench, the smock-frock'd boors 
Had found him seated at their entering. 60 

But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly. 
And I myself seem half to know thy looks. 

And put the shepherds, wanderer ! on thy trace ; 



126 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD /^ 

And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks 
I ask if thou hast pass'd their quiet place ; 65 

Or in my boat I lie 

Moor'd to the cool bank in the summer-heats, 

'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills, 
And watch the warm, green-muffled° Cumner hills, 

And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. 70 

For most, I know, thou lov'st retired ground ! 
Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, 

Eeturning home on summer-nights, have met 
Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe,° 

Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, 75 

As the punt's rope chops round; 
And leaning backward in a pensive dream, 

And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers 

Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers,° 
And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream. 80 

And then they land, and thou art seen no more ! — 
Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come 

To dance around the Fyfield elm in May,° 
Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam. 

Or cross a stile into the public way. 85 

Oft thou hast given them store 
Of flowers — the frail-leaf'd, white anemony, 

Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves. 

And purple orchises with spotted leaves — 
But none hath words she can report of thee. 90 

And, above Godstow Bridge," when hay-time's here 
In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames. 
Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass 



THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY 127 

Where black-wing'd swallows haunt the glittering 
Thames, 
To bathe in the abandon'd lasher pass,° 95 

Have often pass'd thee near 
Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown ; 

Mark'd thine outlandish" garb, thy iigure spare, 
Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air — 
But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone ! 100 

At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills. 
Where at her open door the housewife darns, 

Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate 
To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. 

Children, who early range these slopes and late 105 
For cresses from the rills. 
Have known thee eying, all an April-day, 

The springing pastures and the feeding kine ; 

And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine. 
Through the long dewy grass move slow away. no 

In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood'' — 
Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way 

Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see 
With scarlet patches tagg'd° and shreds of grey, 

Above the forest-ground called Thessaly° — 115 

The blackbird, picking food. 
Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all ; 

So often has he known thee past him stray 

Rapt, twirling in thy hand a wither'd spray, 
And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall. 120 

And once, in winter, on the causeway chill 

Where home througli flooded fields foot-travellers go, 



128 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Have I not pass'd thee on the wooden bridge, 
Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow, 

Thy face tow'rd Hinksey° and its wintry ridge ? 125 
And thou hast climb'd the hill, 
And gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range ; 

Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snowllakes fall. 

The line of festal light in Christ-Church halF — 
Then sought thy straw in some sequester'd grange.® 130 

But what — I dream ! Two hundred years are flown 
Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls, 

And the grave Glanvil° did the tale inscribe 
That thou wert wander'd from the studious walls 

To learn strange arts, and join a gipsy-tribe ; 135 

And thou from earth art gone 
Long since, and in some quiet churchyard laid — 

Some country-nook, where o'er thy unknown grave 

Tall grasses and white-flowering nettles wave, 
Under a dark red-fruited yew-tree's° shade. 140 

— No, no, thou hast not felt the lapse of hours ! 
For what wears out the life of mortal men ? 

'Tis that from change to change their being rolls ; 
'Tis that repeated shocks, again, again, 

Exhaust the energy of strongest souls 145 

And numb the elastic powers. 
Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen,° 

And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit. 

To the just-pausing Genius° we remit 
Our worn-out life, and are — what we have been. 150 

Thou hast not lived,° why should'st thou perish, so ? 
Thou hadst one aim, one business, one desire° ; 



THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY 129 

Else wert thou long since number'd with the dead ! 
Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire ! 

The generations of thy peers are fled, 155 

And we ourselves shall go ; 
But thou possessest an immortal lot. 

And we imagine thee exempt from age 

And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page. 
Because thou hadst — what we, alas ! have not.° 160 

For early didst thou leave the world, with powers 
Fresh, undiverted to the world without, 

Firm to their mark, not spent on other things ; 
Free from the sick fatigue, the languid doubt, 

Which much to have tried, in much been baffled, 
brings.° 165 

life unlike to ours ! 
Who fluctuate idly without term or scope. 

Of whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives, 
And each half lives a hundred different lives ; 
Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope.° 170 

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven ! and we, 
Light half-believers of our casual creeds. 

Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will'd. 
Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, 

Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill'd ; 175 
For whom each year we see 
Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new ; 

Who hesitate and falter life away. 

And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day — 
Ah ! do not we, wanderer ! await it too° ? 180 

Yes, we await it! — but it still delays. 
And then we suffer ! and amongst us one, 



130 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Who most has suffer'd, takes dejectedly 
His seat upon the intellectual throne; 

And all his store of sad experience he 185 

Lays bare of wretched days ; 
Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs, 

And how the dying spark of hope was fed, 

And how the breast was soothed, and how the head. 
And all his hourly varied anodynes.° 190 

This for our wisest ! and we others pine, 

And wish the long unhappy dream would end. 

And waive all claim to bliss, and try to bear ; 
With close-lipp'd patience for our only friend, 

Sad patience, too near neighbour to despair — 195 
But none has hope like thine ! 
Thou through the fields and through the woods dost 
stray, 
Eoaming the country-side, a truant boy, 
Nursing thy project in unclouded joy, 
And every doubt long blown by time away. . 200 

born in days when wits were fresh and clear, 
And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames ; 

Before this strange disease of modern life. 
With its sick hurry, its divided aims. 

Its head o'ertax'd, its palsied hearts, was rife — 205 
Fly hence, our contact fear ! 
Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood ! 

Averse, as Dido° did with gesture stern 

From her false friend's approach in Hades turn, 
Wave us away, and keep thy solitude ! 210 

Still nursing the unconquerable hope. 
Still clutching the inviolable shade,° 



THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY 131 

With a free, onward impulse brushing through, 
By night, the silver'd branches" of the glade — 

Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue, 215 

On some mild pastoral slope 
Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales 

Freshen thy flowers as in former years 

With dew, or listen with enchanted ears, 
From the dark dingles,° to the nightingales ! 220 

But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly ! 
For strong the infection of our mental strife, 

Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest ; 
And we should win thee from thy own fair life, 

Like us distracted, and like us unblest. 225 

Soon, soon thy cheer would die, 
Thy hopes grow timorous, and unhx'd thy powers, 

And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made ; 

And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, 
Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours. 230 

Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles ! 
— As some grave Tyrian° trader, from the sea, 

Descried at sunrise an emerging prow 
Lifting the cool-hair'd creepers stealthily, 

The fringes of a southward-facing brow 235 

Among the ^gsean isles° ; 
And saw the merry Grecian coaster come, 

Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,° 

Green, bursting figs, and tunnies° steep'd in brine — 
And knew the intruders on his ancient home, 240 

The young light-hearted masters of the waves — 
And snatch'd his rudder, and shook out more sail ,• 



132 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And day and night held on indignantly 
O'er the blue Midland waters" with the gale, 

Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, 245 

To where the Atlantic raves 
Outside the western straits° ; and unbent sails 

There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of 

foam. 
Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come° j 
And on the beach undid his corded bales.® 250 



THYKSIS^ 

A MONODY, TO COMMEMORATE THE AUTHOR's FRIEND, 
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, WHO DIED'AT FLORENCE, 1861 

How changed is here each spot man makes or fills° ! 
In the two Hinkseys° nothing keeps the same; 

The village street its haunted mansion lacks. 
And from the sign is gone Sibylla's name,° 

And from the roofs the twisted chimney-stacks — 5 
Are ye too changed, ye hills° ? 
See, 'tis no foot of unfamiliar men 

To-night from Oxford up your pathway strays ! 

Here came I often, often, in old days — 
Thy r sis and I ; we still had Thy r sis then. 10 

Euns it not here, the track by Childsworth Farm, 
Past the high wood, to where the elm-tree crowns 

The hill behind whose ridge the sunset flames 
The signal-elm, that looks on Ilsley Downs° ? 



THYRSIS 133 

The Vale,° the three lone weirs,° the youthful 
Thames ? ^ 15 

This winter-eve is warm, 
Humid the air ! leafless, yet soft as spring, 
. The tender purple spray on copse and briers ! 

And that sweet city with her dreaming spires,° 
She needs not June for. beauty's heightening,° 20 

Lovely all times she lies, lovely to-night ! — 
Only, methinks, some loss of habit's power 

Befalls me wandering through this upland dim.° 
Once pass'd I blindfold here, at any hour° ; 

Now seldom come I, since I came with himo 25 

That single elm-tree bright 
Against the west — I miss it ! is it gone ? 

We prized it dearly ; while it stood, we said, 

Our friend, the Gipsy-Scholar, was not dead ; 
While the tree lived, he in these fields lived on.° 30 

Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here. 

But once I knew each field, each flower, each stick ; 

And with the country-folk acquaintance made 
By barn in threshing-time, by new-built rick. 

Here, too, our shepherd-pipes° we first assayed. 35 
Ah me ! this many a year 
My pipe is lost, my shepherd's holiday ! 

Needs must I lose them, needs with heavy heart 

Into the world and wave of men depart j 
But Thyrsis of his own will went away.° 40 

It irk'd° him to be here, he could not rest. 
He loved each simple joy the country yields, 
He loved his mates j but yet he could not keep,° 



134 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

For that a shadow lonr'd on the fields, 

Here with the shepherds and the silly° sheep. 45 

Some life of men unblest 

He knew, which made him droop, and fill'd his head. 
He went ; his piping took a troubled sound 
Of storms° that rage outside our happy ground ; 

He could not wait their passing, he is dead.° 50 

So, some tempestuous morn in early June, 

When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, 

Before the roses and the longest day — 
When garden-walks and all the grassy floor 

With blossoms red and white of fallen May° 55 

And chestnut-flowers are strewn — 
So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry. 

From the wet field, through the vext garden-trees, 

Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze : 
The bloom is gone, and ivith the hloom go 1° I 60 

Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go ? 
Soon will the high Midsummer pomps° come on, 

Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, 
Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, 

Sweet-William with his homely cottage-smell, 65 

And stocks in fragrant blow ; 
Eoses that down the alleys shine afar. 

And open, jasmine-muffled lattices, 

And groups under the dreaming garden-trees, 
And the full moon, and the white evening-star. 70 

He hearkens not ! light comer,° he is flown ! 
What matters it ? next year he will return. 

And we shall have him in the sweet spring-days, 



TIIYRSIS 135 

With whitening hedges, and iin crumpling fern, 

And blue-bells trembling by the forest-ways, 75 

And scent of hay new-mown. 

But Thyrsis never more we swains° shall see ; • 
See him come back, and cut a smoother reed,° 
And blow a strain the world at last shall heed° — 

For Time, not Corydon,° hath conquered thee ! 80 

Alack, for Corydon no rival now ! — 

But when Sicilian shepherds lost a mate, 

Some good survivor with his flute would go, 
Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate° ; 

And cross the unpermitted ferry's flow,° 85 

And relax Pluto's brow, 
And make leap up with joy the beauteous head 

Of Proserpine, ° among whose crowned hair 

Are flowers first open'd on Sicilian air. 
And flute his friend, like Orpheus, from the dead.° 90 

easy access to the hearer's grace 

When Dorian shepherds sang to Proserpine ! 

For she herself had trod Sicilian fields. 
She knew the Dorian water's gush divine,° 

She knew each lily white which Enna yields, 95 

Each rose with blushing face° ; 
She loved the Dorian pipe, the Dorian strain.^ 

But ah, of our poor Thames she never heard ! 

Her foot the Cumner cowslips never stirr'd ; 
And we should tease her with our plaint in vain ! 100 

Well ! wind-dispersed and vain the words will be, 
Yet, Thyrsis, let me give my grief its hour 
In the old haunt, and find our tree-topp'd hill ! 



136 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Who, if not I, for questing here hath power ? 

I know the wood which hides the dalfodil, 105 

I know the Fyfield tree,° 

I know what white, what purple fritillaries 
The grassy harvest of the river-fields, 
Above by Enshani,° down by Sandford,° yields, 

And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries; no 

I know these slopes ; who knows them if not I ? — 
But many a dingle on the loved hill-side, 

With thorns once studded, old, white-blossom'd trees, 
Where thick the cowslips grew, and far descried 

High tower'd the spikes of purple orchises, 115 

Hath since our day ^Dut by 
The coronals of that forgotten time ; 

Down each green bank hath gone the ploughboy's 

team, 
And only in the hidden brookside gleam 
Primroses, orphans of the flowery prime. 120 

Where is the girl, who by the boatman's door, 
Above the locks, above the boating throng, 

Unmoor'd our skiff when through the Wytham flats,° 
Eed loosestrife and blond meadow-sweet among 

And darting swallows and light water-gnats, 125 

We track'd the shy Thames shore ? 
Where are the mowers, who, as the tiny swell 

Of our boat passing heaved the river-grass, 

Stood with suspended scythe to see us pass ? — 
They all are gone, and thou art gone as well ! 130 

Yes, thou art gone ! and round me too the night 
In ever-nearing circle weaves her shade. 
I see her veil draw soft across the day, 



THYBSIS 137 

I feel her slowly chilling breath invade 

The cheek grown thin, the brown hair sprent° with 

grey; 135 

I feel her finger light 
Laid pausefully npon life's headlong train ; — 
The foot less prompt to meet the morning dew, 
The heart less bounding at emotion new, 
And hope, once crush'd, less quick to spring again. 140 

And long the way appears, which seem'd so short 
To the less practised eye of sanguine youth ; 

And high the mountain-tops, in cloudy air, 
The mountain-tops where is the throne of Truth, 

Tops in life's morning-sun so bright and bare! 14^, 
Unbreachable the fort 
Of the long-batter'd world uplifts its wall ; 

And strange and vain the earthly turmoil grows, 

And near and real the charm of thy repose, 
And night as welcome as a friend would fall.° 150 

But hush ! the upland hath a sudden loss 
Of quiet ! — Look, adown the dusk hill-side, 

A troop of Oxford hunters going home. 
As in old da3^s, jovial and talking, ride ! 154 

From hunting with the Berkshire^ hounds they come. 
Quick ! let me fly, and cross 
Into yon farther field ! — 'Tis done ; and see, 

Back'd by the sunset, which doth glorify 

The orange and pale violet evening-sky. 
Bare on its lonely ridge, the Tree ! the Tree ! 160 

I take the omen ! Eve lets down her veil. 

The white fog creeps from bush to bush about. 
The west unflushes, the high stars grow bright, 



138 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

And in the scatter'd farms the lights come out. 

I cannot reach the signal-tree to-night, 165 

Yet, happy omen, hail ! 

Hear it from thy broad lucent Arno-vale° 

(For there thine earth-forgetting eyelids keep 
The morningless and unawakening sleep 

Under the flowery oleanders pale), 170 

Hear it, Thyrsis, still our tree is there ! — 

Ah, vain ! These English fields, this upland dim, 

These brambles pale with mist engarlanded, 
That lone, sky-pointing tree, are not for him ; 

To a boon southern country he is fled,° 175 

And now in happier air. 
Wandering with the great Mother's° train divine 

(And purer or more subtle soul than thee, 

I trow, the mighty Mother doth not see) 
Within a folding of the Apennine, 180 

Thou hearest the immortal chants of old! — 
Putting his sickle to the perilous grain 

In the hot cornfield of the Phrygian king, 
Por thee the Lityerses-song again 

Young Daphnis with his silver voice doth sing ; 1S5 
Sings his Sicilian fold. 
His sheep, his hapless love, his blinded eyes — 

And how a call celestial round him rang, 

And heavenward from the fountain-brink he sprang, 
And all the marvel of the golden skies.° 190 

There thou art gone, and me thou leavest here 
Sole° in these fields ! yet will I not despair. 
Despair I will not, while I yet descry 



THYRSIS 139 

'Neath the mild canopy of English air 

That lonely tree against the western sky. 195 

Still, still these slopes, 'tis clear, 

Our Gipsy-Scholar haunts, outliving thee ! 

Fields where soft sheep° from cages pull the hay, 
Woods with anemonies in flower till May, 

Know him a wanderer still ; then why not me ?° 200 

A fugitive and gracious light he seeks. 
Shy to illumine ; and I seek it too,° 

This does not come with houses or with gold. 
With place, with honour, and a flattering crew ; 

'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold — 205 
But the smooth-slipping weeks 
Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired ; 

Out of the heed of mortals he is gone, 

He wends unfollow'd, he must house alone ; 
Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired. 210 

Thou too, Thyrsis, on like quest wast bound; 
Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour ! 

Men gave thee nothing ; but this happy quest. 
If men esteem'd thee feeble, gave thee power. 

If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest. 215 

And this rude Cumner ground, 
Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields, 

Here cam'st thou in thy jocund youthful time. 

Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime ! 
And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields. 220 

What though the music of thy rustic flute 
Kept not for long its happy, country tone ; 
Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy note 



140 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Of men contention-tost, of men who groan, 

Which task'd thy pipe too sore, and tired thy throat — 
It fail'd, and thou wast mute ! 226 

Yet hadst thou alway visions of our light. 

And long with men of care thou couldst not stay, 
And soon thy foot resumed its wandering way, 

Left human haunt, and on alone till night. 23c 

Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here ! 
'Mid city-noise, not, as with thee of yore, 

Thyrsis ! in reach of sheep-bells is my home. 
Then through the great towel's harsh, heart-wearying 
roar. 
Let in thy voice a whisper often come, 235 

To chase fatigue and fear : 
Why fail (test thou f I tvanderecl till I died. 
Roam on ! The light we sought is shining still. 
Dost thou ask proof ? our tree yet crowns the hill, 
Our scholar travels yet the loved hill-side. 240 



EUGBY CHAPEL° 

November 1857 

Coldly, sadly descends 

The autumn-evening. The field 

Strewn with its dank yellow drifts 

Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, 

Fade into dimness apace, 

Silent ; — hardly a shout 

From a few boys late at their play ! 

The lights come out in the street, 



RUGBY CHAPEL 141 

In the school-room windows ; — but cold, 
Solemn, unlighted, austere, lo 

Through the gathering darkness, arise 
The chapel-walls, in whose bound 
Thou, my father ! art laid.° 

There thou dost lie, in the gloom 

Of the autumn evening. But ah ! 15 

That word, gloom° to my mind 

Brings thee back, in the light 

Of thy radiant vigour, again ; 

In the gloom of November we pass'd 

Days not dark at thy side ; 20 

Seasons impair'd not the ray 

Of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear. 

Such thou wast ! and I stand 

In the autumn evening, and think 

Of bygone autumns with thee. 25 

Fifteen years have gone round 

Since thou arosest to tread, 

In the summer-morning, the road 

Of death, at a call unforeseen. 

Sudden. For fifteen years, 30 

We who till then in thy shade 

Eested as under the boughs 

Of a mighty oak,° have endured 

Sunshine and rain as we might, 

Bare, unshaded, alone, 35 

Lacking the shelter of thee. 

strong soul, by what shore° 
Tarriest thou now? For that force, 



142 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Surely, has not been left vain ! 

Somewhere, surely, afar, 40 

In the sounding labour-house vast 

Of being, is practised that strength, 

Zealous, beneficent, firm ! 

Yes, in some far-shining sphere. 

Conscious or not of the past, 45 

Still thou performest the word 

Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live — 

Prompt, unwearied, as here ! 

Still thou upraisest with zeal 

The humble good from the ground, 50 

Sternly repressest the bad ! 

Still, like a trumpet, doth rouse 

Those who with half-open eyes 

Tread the border-land dim 

'Twixt vice and virtue ; reviv'st, 55 

Succourest ! — this was thy work, 

This was thy life upon earth. ° 

What is the course of the life 

Of mortal men on the earth° ? — ■ 

Most men eddy about 60 

Here and there — eat and drink, 

Chatter and love and hate, 

Gather and squander, are raised 

Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust, 

Striving blindly, achieving 65 

Nothing ; and then they die — 

Perish; — and no one asks 

Who or what they have been. 

More than he asks what waves, 



RUGBY CHAPEL 143 

111 the moonlit solitudes mild 70 

Of the midmost Ocean, have swell'd, 
Foam'd for a moment, and gone. 

And there are some, whom a thirst 

Ardent, unquenchable, fires. 

Not with the crowd to be spent, 75 

Not without aim to go round 

In an eddy of purposeless dust, 

Effort unmeaning and vain. 

Ah yes ! some of us strive 

Not without action to die 80 

Fruitless, but something to snatch 

From dull oblivion, nor all 

Glut the devouring grave ! 

We, we have chosen our path — 

Path to a clear-purposed goal, 85 

Path of advance ! — but it leads 

A long, steep journey, through sunk 

Gorges, o'er mountains in snow. 

Cheerful, with friends, we set forth — 

Then, on the height, comes the storm. 90 

Thunder crashes from rock 

To rock, the cataracts reply. 

Lightnings dazzle our eyes.° 

Roaring torrents have breach'd 

The track, the stream-bed descends 95 

In the place where the wayfarer once 

Planted his footstep — the spray 

Boils o'er its borders ! aloft 

The unseen snow-beds dislodge 

Their hanging ruin° ; alas, loc 

Havoc is made in our train ! 



144 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Friends, who set forth at our side, 

Palter, are lost in the storm. 

We, we only are left ! 

With frowning foreheads, with lips 

Sternly compress'd, we strain on, 

On — and at nightfall at last 

Come to the end of our way. 

To the lonely inn 'mid the rocks ; 

Where the gaunt and taciturn host 

Stands on the threshold, the wind 

Shaking his thin white hairs — 

Holds his lantern to scan 

Our storm-beat figures, and asks : 

Whom in our party we bring ? 

Whom we have left in the snow ? 

Sadly we answer : We bring 
Only ourselves ! we lost 
Sight of the rest in the storm. 
Hardly ourselves we fought through, 
Stripp'd, without friends, as we are. 
Friends, companions, and train. 
The avalanche swept from our side.° 

But thou would'st not alone 
Be saved, my father ! alone 
Conquer and come to thy goal, 
Leaving the rest in the wild. 
We were weary, and we 
Fearful, and we in our march 
Fain to drop down and to die. 
Still thou turnedst, and still 
Beckonedst the trembler, and still 
Gavest the weary thy hand. 



RUGBY CHAPEL 145 

If, in the paths of the workl, 

Stones might have wounded thy feet, 135 

Toil or dejection have tried 

Thy spirit, of that we saw 

Nothing — to us thou wast still 

Cheerful, and helpful, and firm ! 

Therefore to thee it was given 140 

Many to save with thyself ; 

And, at the end of thy day, 

O faithful shepherd! to come, 

Bringing thy sheep in thy hand.° 

And through thee I believe 145 

In the noble and great who are gone ; 

Pure souls honour'd and blest 

By former ages, who else — 

Such, so soulless, so poor. 

Is the race of men whom I see — 150 

Seem'd but a dream of the heart, 

Seem'd but a cry of desire. 

Yes ! I believe that there lived 

Others like thee in the past, 

Not like the men of the crowd 155 

Who all round me to-day 

Bluster or cringe, and make' life 

Hideous, and arid, and vile ; 

But souls temper'd with fire, 

Fervent, heroic, and good, 160 

Helpers and friends of mankind. 

Servants of God ! — or sons 
Shall I not call you ? because 
Not as servants ye knew 



146 SELECTIONS FROM ARNOLD 

Your Father's innermost mind, 165 

His, who unwillingly sees 

One of his little ones lost — 

Yours is the praise, if mankind 

Hath not as yet in its march 

Eainted, and fallen, and died ! 170 

See ! In the rocks° of the world 

Marches the host of mankind, 

A feeble, wavering line. 

AVhere are they tending ? — A God 

Marshall'd them, gave them their goal. 175 

Ah, but the way is so long ! 

Years they have been in the wild ! 

Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks, 

Rising all round, overawe ; ' 

Factions divide them, their host 180 

Threatens to break, to dissolve. 

— Ah, keep, keep them combined ! 

Else, of the myriads who fill 

That army, not one shall arrive ; 

Sole they shall stray ; in the rocks 185 

Stagger for ever in vain, 

Die one by one in the waste. 

Then, in such hour of need 

Of your fainting, dispirited race, 

Ye,° like angels, appear, 190 

Radiant with ardour divine ! 

Beacons of hope, ye appear I 

Languor is not in your heart. 

Weakness is not in your word, 

Weariness not on your brow. J95 



RUGBY CHAPEL 147 

Ye alight in our van ! at your voice, 

Panic, despair, flee away. 

Ye move through the ranks, recall 

The stragglers, refresh the outworn, 

Praise, re-inspire the brave.! 200 

Order, courage, return. 

Eyes rekindling, and prayers, 

Follow your steps as ye go. 

Ye fill up the gaps in our files. 

Strengthen the wavering line, 205 

Stablish, continue our march, 

On, to the bound of the waste, 

On, to the City of God.° 



NOTES 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM (Page 1) 

"I AM occupied with a thing that gives me more pleasure than 
anything I have ever done yet, wliich is a good sign, but whether I 
shall not ultimately spoil it by being obliged to strike it off in frag- 
ments instead of at one heat, I cannot quite say." (Arnold, in a 
letter to Mrs. Foster, April, 1853. ) 

"All my spare time has been spent on a poem which I have just 
finished, and which I think by far the best thing I have yet done, 
and I think it will be generally liked ; though one can never be 
sure of this. I have had the greatest pleasure in composing it, a 
rare thing with me, and, as I think, a good test of the pleasure 
what you write is likely to afford to others. But the story is a 
very noble and excellent one." (Arnold, in a letter to his mother, 
May, 1853.) 

The following synopsis of the story of Sohrab and Rustum, the 
"tale replete with tears," is gathered from several sources, chiefly 
Benjamin's Persia, in The Stonj of the Nations, Sir John Malcolm's 
History of Persia, and the great Persian epic poem. Shah Nameh. 
The Shah Nameli, the original source of the story, and which pur- 
ports to narrate the exploits of Persia's kings and champions over 
a space of thirty-six centuries, bears the same relation to Persian 
literature as the Iliad and Odysseij to the Greek, and the JEneid to 
the Latin, though in structure it more nearly resembles Morte 

149 



150 NOTES [Page 1 

d' Arthur, which records in order the achievements of various heroes. 
In it the native poet Mansur ibn Ahmad, afterwards known to 
literature as Firdaiisi, the Paradisaical, has set down the early- 
tales and traditions of his people with all the vividness and color 
common to oriental writers. The principal hero of the poem is the 
mighty Rustum, who, mounted on his famous horse Ruksh, per- 
formed prodigies of valor in defence of the Persian throne. Of all 
his adventures his encounter with Sohrab is the most dramatic: 
The poem was probably written in the latter half of the tenth 
century. As will be seen, the incidents narrated in Arnold's poem 
form but an episode in the complete story of the two champions. 

Rustum (or Rustem), having killed a wild ass while hunting on 
the Turanian frontier, and having feasted on its flesh, composed 
himself to sleep, leaving his faithful steed, Ruksh (or Raksh), to 
graze untethered. On awakening, he found his horse had disap-' 
peared, and believing it had been stolen, the warrior proceeded 
towards Semenjan, a near-by city, in hopes of recovering his prop- 
erty. On the way, he learned that Ruksh had been found by the 
servants of the king and was stabled at Semenjan, as he had sur- 
mised. Upon Rustum's demand, the steed was promptly restored 
to him, and he was about to depart when he was prevailed upon to 
accept the king's invitation to tarry awhile and rest himself in 
feasting and idleness. 

Now the king of Semenjan had a fair daughter named Tahmineh, 
who had become enamoured of Rustum because of his mighty 
exploits. Susceptible as she was beautiful, she made her attach- 
ment so evident that the young hero, who was as ardent as he was 
brave, readily yielded to the power of her fascination. The con- 
sent of the king having been obtained, Rustum and Tahmineh were 
married with all the rites prescribed by the laws of the country. 
A peculiar feature of this alliance lay in the fact that the king of 
Semenjan was feudatory to Afrasiab, the deadly enemy of Persia, 



Page 1] NOTES 151 

while Rustum was her greatest champion. At this time, however, 
the two countries were at peace. 

For a time all went happily, then Rustum. found it necessary to 
leave his bride, as he thought, for only a short time. At parting 
he gave her an onyx, which he wore on his arm, bidding her, if a 
daughter should be born to their union, to twine the gem in her hair 
under a fortunate star; but if a son, to bind it on his arm, and he 
would be insured a glorious career. Rustum then mounted Ruksh 
and rode away — as time proved^ never to return. 

The months went by, and to the lonely bride was born a mar- 
vellous son, whom, because of his comely features, she named 
Sohrab. Fearing Rustum would send for the boy when he grew 
older, and thus rob her of her treasure, Tahmineh sent word to 
him that the child was a girl — "no son," and Rustum took no 
further interest in it. 

While still of tender years, Sohrab showed signs of his noble 
lineage. He early displayed a love for horses, and at the age of 
ten years, according to the tradition, was large and handsome and 
highly accomplished in the use of arms. Realizing at length that 
he v/as of lofty descent, he insisted that his mother, who had con- 
cealed the fact, should inform him of the name of his father. Being 
told that it was the renowned Rustum, he exclaimed, "Since he is 
my father, I shall go to his aid ; he shall become king of Persia 
and together we shall rule the world." After this the youth caused 
a horse worthy of him to be found, and with the aid of his grand- 
father, the king of Semenjan, he prepared to go on_the quest, 
attended by a mighty host. 

When Afrasiab, the Turanian ruler, learned that Sohrab was 
going to war with the Persians, he was greatly pleased, and after 
(. "unselling with his wise men, decided openly to assist him in his 
enterprises, with the expectation that both Rustum and Sohrab 
would fall in battle and Persia be at his mercy. He accordingly 



152 2^0TES [Page 1 

sent an army of auxiliaries to Sohrab, accompanied by two astute 
courtiers, Houman and Barman, who, under the guise of friend- 
ship, were to act as counsellors to the young leader. These he 
ordered to keep the knowledge of their relationship from father 
and son and to seek to bring about an encounter between them, 
in the hope that Sohrab would slay Rustum, Afrasiab's most 
dreaded foeman, after which the unsuspecting youth might easily 
be disposed of by treachery. 

Sohrab, with his army and that of Afrasiab, set out, intending to 
fight his way until Rustum should be sent against him, when he 
would reveal himself to his father and form an alliance with him 
that would place the line of Seistan on the throne. On the way 
southward, Sohrab overthrew and captured the Persian champion, 
Hujir, and the same day conquered the warrior maiden Gurdafrid, 
whose beauty and tears, however, prevailed upon him to release 
her. Guzdehern, father of Gurdafrid, recognizing Sohrab's prow- 
ess, and alarmed for the safety of the Persian throne, secretly de- 
spatched a courier to the king Kai Kaoos to warn him of the young 
Tartar's approach. Kaoos, in great terror, sent for Rustum to 
hurry to his aid. Regardless of the king's request, Rustum spent 
eight days in feasting, then presented himself at the court. Kaoos, 
angered at the delay, ordered both the champion and the messen- 
ger to be executed forthwith ; but Rustum effected his escape on 
Ruksh, and returned to Seistan, leaving Persia to her fate. The 
king's wrath, however, soon gave place to fear ; and recognizing 
the danger of his throne unsupported by Rustum's valor, he de- 
spatched messengers to him with humble petitions and apologies. 
After much protesting, Rustum finally yielded and accompanied 
the Persian army, under the king Kai Kaoos, which at once set 
forth to encounter Sohrab. 

The morning before the opening of hostilities, Sohrab, taking the 
Persian Hujir, whom he still held a prisoner, to the top of a rocky 



Page 1] NOTES 153 

eminence, ordered him to point out the tents of the chief warriors 
of the Persian army, particularly Rustum's. But Hujir, fearing 
lest Sohrab should attack Rustum unexpectedly and so overcome 
him, declared that the great chieftain's tent was not among those 
on the plain below. Disappointed at his failure to find his father, 
Sohrabled his army in a fierce onslaught on the Persians, driving 
them in confusion before him. In this dire extremity Kai Kaoos 
sent for Rustum, who was somewhat apart from the main troop. 
Exclaiming that the king never sent for him except when he had 
got himself into trouble, the warrior armed, mounted Ruksh, and 
rushed to the combat. By mutual consent the two champions with- 
drew to a retired spot, where, unmolested, they might fight out 
their quarrel hand to hand. As they approached each other, 
Rustum, moved with compassion by the youth of his foe, tried to 
dissuade Sohrab from his purpose, and counselled him to retire. 
Sohrab, filled with sudden hope, — an instinctive feeling that the 
father whom he was seeking stood before him, — eagerly demanded 
whether this were Rustum. But Rustum, fearing treachery, said 
he was only an ordinary man, having neither palace nor princely 
kingdom — not Rustum. 
, They marked off the lists, and, mounted on their powerful horses, 
fought first with javelins, then with swords, clubs, and bows and 
arrows. After several, hours of fighting both were exhausted, and 
by tacit consent they retired to opposite sides of the lists for rest. 
"When the combat was renewed, Sohrab gained a slight advantage. 
A truce was then made for the night, and the warriors returned to 
their tents to prepare for the morrow. 

With daybreak the struggle was renewed. To prevent the 
armies froin intervening or engaging in battle, they were removed 
to a distance of several mdes. Midway between, Sohrab and Rus- 
tum met in the midst of a lonely, treeless waste. More convinced 
than before that his adversary was Rustum, Sohrab sought to bring 



154 NOTES [Page 1 

about a reconciliation, but Rustum refused. This time they fought 
on foot. From morning till afternoon they fought, neither gaining 
any decided advantage. At last Sohrab succeeded in felling Rus- 
tum to the earth, and was about to slay him, when the Persian 
called out that it was not the custom in chivalrous warfare to 
slay a champion until he was thrown the second time. Sohrab, 
generous as brave, released his prostrate foe ; and again father and 
son parted. 

Rustum, scarcely believing himself alive after such an escape, 
purified himself with water, and prayed that his wounds might be 
healed and his accustomed strength restored to him. Never before 
had he been so beset in battle. 

With morning came the renewal of the combat, both champions 
determining to end it that day. Late in the evening Rustum, by a 
supreme effort, seized Sohrab around the waist and hurled him to 
the ground. Then, fearing lest the youth prove too strong for him 
in the end, he drew his blade and plunged it into Sohrab's bosom. 

Sohrab forgave Rustum, but warned him to beware the ven- 
geance of his father, the mighty Rustum, who must soon learn that 
he had slain his son Sohrab. "I went out to seek my father," 
cried the dying youth, "for my mother had told me by what tokens 
I should know him, and I perish for longing after him. . . . Yet 
I say unto thee, if thou shouldst become a fish that swimmeth in 
the depths of the ocean, if thou shouldst change into a star that is 
concealed in the farthest heaven, my father would draw thee forth 
from thy hiding-place, and avenge my death upon thee, when he 
shall learn that the earth is become my bed. For my father is 
Rustum the Pehliva, and it shall be told unto him, how that Sohrab 
his son perished in the quest after his face." These words were as 
death to the aged hero, who fell senseless at the side of his wounded 
son. When he had recovered he called in despair for proofs of 
what Sohrab had said. The now dying youth tore open his mail 



Page 1] NOTES 155 

and showed his father the onyx which his mother had bound on his 
arm as directed. 

The sight of his own signet rendered Rustum quite frantic ; he 
cursed himself, and would have put an end to his existence but for 
the efforts of his expiring son. After Sohrab's death he burnt his 
tents and carried the corpse to his father's home in Seistan, and 
buried it there. The Tartar army, agreeable to Sohrab's last re- 
quest, was permitted to return home unmolested. When the tid- 
ings of Sohrab's death reached his mother, she was inconsolable, 
and died in less than a year. 

In the main the story as told by Arnold follows the original nar- 
rative. A careful investigation of the alterations made, and the 
effect thus produced, will lend added interest to the study of the 
poem and give ample theme for composition work. 

1. And the first grey of morning fill'd the east. Note the 
abrupt opening. What is gained by its use ? At what point in 
the story as told in the introductory note does the poem take up 
the narrative ? Be sure to get a clear mental picture of the initia- 
tive scene. And is here used in a manner common in the Scrip- 
tures. Cf. " and the Lord spake unto Moses," etc. 

2- Oxus. The chief river of Central Asia, which separated Turan 
from Iran or the Persian Empire, called Oxus by the Greeks and 
Romans, and the Jihun or Amu by the Arabs and Persians. It 
takes its source in Lake Sir-i-Kol, i]i the Pamir table-land, at a 
height of 15,600 feet, flows northwest, and empties into the Aral 
Sea on the south. Its length is about 1300 miles. 

"The introduction of the tranquil pictures of the Oxus, both at 
the beginning and close of the poem (11. 875-892), flowing steadily 
on, unmoved by the tragedy which has been enacted on her shore, 
forms one of the most artistic features in the setting of the poem." 

3. Tartar camp. The Tartars were nomadic tribes of Central 
Asia and southern Russia. The so-called Black Tartars, identified 



156 ' NOTES ' [Pages 1-3 

with the Scythians of tlie Greek historians, inhabited the basin of 
the Aral and Caspian Seas, and are the tribe referred to in the 
poem. They are a fierce, warlike people ; hence our expression, 
"caught a Tartar." 

11. Peran-Wisa. A celebrated Turanian chief, here in com- 
mand of Afrasiab's army, which was composed of representatives 
of many Tartar tribes, as indicated in 11. 119-134. 

15. Pamere, or Pamir. An extensive plateau region of Central 
Asia, called by the natives the "roof of the world." Among the 
rivers having their source in this plateau are the Oxus, 1. 2, and the 
Jaxartes, 1. 129. 

38. Afrasiab. The king of the Tartars, and one of the principal 
heroes of the Shah JVameh, the Persian "Book of Kings." He is 
reputed to have been strong as a lion and to have had few equals 
as a warrior. 

40. Samarcand. A city in the district of Serafshan, Turkestan, 
to the east of Bokhara ; now a considerable commercial and manu- 
facturing centre, and a centre of Mohammedan learning. 

42. Ader-baijan. The northwest province of Persia, on the 
Turanian frontier. 

45. At my boy's years. See introductory note to poem. 

60. common fight. In the sense of a general engagement. Be 
sure to catch the reason why Sohrab makes his request. 

61. sunk. That is, lost sight of. 

67. common chance. See note, 1. 60. Which would be the 
more dangerous, a " single " or "common " combat ? Why ? 

70. To find a father thou hast never seen. See introductory 
note to poem. 

82. Seistan. A province of southwest Afghanistan bordering 
on the Persian province of Yezd. It is intersected by the Helmund 
River (1. 751), w'hich flows into the Hamoon Lake, now scarcely 
more than a morass. On an island in this lake are ruins of fortifi- 



Pages 3^] NOTES 157 

cations called Fort Eustum. This territory was long held by Rus- 
tum's family, feudatory to the Persian kings. Zal. Rustum's 
father, ruler of Seistan. See note, 1. 232. 

83-85. Whether that ... or in some quarrel, etc. Either 
because his mighty strength ... or because of some quarrel, etc. 

85. Persian King. That is, Kai Kaoos (or Kai Khosroo). See 
introductory note to poem ; also note, 1. 223. 

86-91. There go ! etc. The touching solicitation of these lines 
is wholly Arnold's. 

99. Why ruler's staff, no sword ? 

101. Kara Kul. A district some thirty miles southwest of 
Bokhara, noted for the excellence of its pasturage, and for its fleeces. 

107. Haman. Next to Peran-Wisa in command of Tartar army. 
See Houman, in introductory note to poem. 

113-114. Casbin. A fortified city in the province of Irak- 
Ajemi, Persia, situated on the main route from Persia to Europe, 
and at one time the capital of the Iranian empire. Just to the 
north of the city rise the Elburz Mountains (1. 114), which sepa- 
rate the Persian Plateau from the depression containing the 
Caspian and Aral Seas. 

115. frore. Frozen, from the Anglo-Saxon froren. 

"... the parching air 
Burns frore, and cold performs the effect of fire." 

— Milton. Paradise Lost, 11. 594-595, Book II. 

119. Bokhara. Here the state of Bokhara, an extensive region 
of Central Asia, touching the Aral Sea to the north, the Oxus to 
the south, and Khiva to the west. It has an estimated area of 
235,000 square miles, and contains nineteen cities of considerable 
size, of which the capital, Bokhara, is most important. 

120. Khiva. A khanate situated in the valley of the lower 
Oxus, bordering Bokhara on the southeast, ferment the milk 



158 NOTES [Pages 5-6. 

of mares. An intoxicating drink, Koumiss^ made of camel's or 
mare's milk, is in wide use among the steppe tribes. 

121. Toorkmuns. A branch of the Turkish race found chiefly 
in northern Persia and Afghanistan. 

122. Tukas. From the province of Azer-baijan. 

123. Attruck. A river of Khorassan, near the frontier of 
Khiva ; it lias a west course, and enters the Caspian Sea on the 
east side. 

128. Ferghana. A khanate of Turkestan, north of Bokhara, in 
the upper valley of the Sir Daria. 

129. Jaxartes. The ancient name of the Sir Daria River. It 
takes its source in the Thian Shan Mountains, one of the Pamir 
Plateau ranges, and flows with a general direction north, emptying 
into the Aral Sea on the east side. 

131. Kipchak. A khanate some seventy miles below Khiva on 
the Oxus. 

132. Kalmucks. A nomadic branch of the Mongolian race, 
dwelling in western Siberia. Kuzzaks. Now commonly called 
Cossacks ; a warlike people inhabiting the steppes of southern 
Russia and extensive portions of Asia. Their origin is uncertain. 

133. Kirghizzes. A rude nomadic people of Mongolian-Tartar 
race found in northern Turkestan. 

138. Khorassan. (That is, the region of the sun.) A province 
of northwestern Persia, largely desert. The origin of the name is 
prettily suggested by Moore in the opening poem of Lalla Bookh : — 

'* In the delightful province of the sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon," etc. 

147. fix'd. Stopped suddenly, halted. 

154-169. Note the effect the challenge has on the tv/o armies. 

156. corn. Here used with its European sense of "grain." It 

is only in America that the word signifies Indian corn or " maize." 



J 



Pages 6-9] NOTES 159 

160. Cabool. Capital of northern Afghanistan, and an impor- 
tant commercial city. 

161. Indian Caucasus. A lofty mountain range north of Cabool, 
which forms the boundary between Turkestan and Afghanistan. 

173. King. See note, 1. 85. 

177. lion's heart. Explain the line. Why are the terms here 
used so forcible in the mouth of Gudurz ? 

178-183. Aloof he sits, etc. One is reminded by Rustum's de- 
portment here, of Achilles sulking in his tent and nursing his wrath 
against Agamemnon. — Iliad, Book I. 

199. sate. Old form of "sat," common in poetry. 

200. falcon. A kind of hawk trained to catch game birds. 
217. Iran. The official name of Persia. 

221. Go to ! Hebraic expression. Frequently found in Shake- 
speare. 

223. Kai Khosroo. According to the Shah Nameh, the thirteenth 
Turanian king. He reigned in the sixth century, and has been 
identified with Cyrus the Great. 

230. Not that one slight helpless girl, etc. See 11. 609-611, also 
introduction to the poem. 

232. snow-haired Zal. According to tradition, Zal was born 
with snow-white hair. His father Lahm, believing this an ill 
omen, doomed the unfortunate babe to be exposed on the loftiest 
summit of the Elburz Mountains. The Simurgh, a great bird or 
griffin, found him and cared for him till grown, then restored him 
to his repentant parent. He subsequently married the Princess 
Rudabeh of Seistan, by whom he became father of Rustum. 

243-248. He spoke , . . men. Note carefully Gudurz's argu- 
ment. Why so effective with Rustum ? 

257. But I will fight unknown and in plain arms. The shields 
and arms of the champions were emblazoned with mottoes and 
devices. Why does Rustum determine to lay aside his accustomed 



160 NOTES [Pages 9-13 

arms and fight incognito ? Wliat effect does this determination 
have npoii the ultimate outcome of the situation ? Read the story 
of the arming of Achilles (Book XIX., Homer's Iliad) ^ and com- 
pare with Rustum's preparation for battle. 

266. device. See note, 1. 257. 

277. Dight. Adorned, dressed. 

"The clouds in thousand liveries dight." 

— Milton. L' Allegro, \.&1. 

286. Bahrein or Aval. A group of islands in the Persian Gulf, 
celebrated for its pearl fisheries. 
288. tale. Reckoning, number. 

*' And every shepherd tells his tale, 
Under the hawthorn in the dale." 

— Milton. U Allegro, 11. 67-^8. 

306. flowers. Decorates, beautifies with floral designs. 

311. perused. Studied, observed closely. 

318. In a letter dated November, 1852, Mr. Arnold speaks of the 
figures in his poem as follows : "I can only say that I took a great 
deal of trouble to orientalize them, because I thought they looked 
strange, and jarred, if western." What is gained by their use ? 

325. vast. Large, mighty. 

326. tried. Proved, experienced. 

328. Never was that field lost or that foe saved. Note the 
power gained in this line by the use of the alliteration. 
330. Be govern' d. Be influenced, persuaded. 

343. by thy father's head! Such oaths are common to the 
extravagant speech of the oriental peoples. 

344. Art thou not Rustum ? See introductory note to poem. 
367. vaunt. Boast implied in the challenge. 

380. Thou wilt not fright me so ! That is, by such talk. 
401. tower'd. Remained stationary, poised. 



Pages 13-17] NOTES 161 

406. full struck. Struck squarely. 

412. Hyphasis, Hydaspes. Two of the rivers of the Punjab in 
northern India, now known as the Beas and Jhylum. In 326 b.c. 
Alexander defeated Porus on the banks of the latter stream. 

414. wrack. Ruin, havoc. (Poetical.) 

418. glancing. In the sense of darting aside. 

435. hollow. Unnatural in tone, 

452. like that autumn-star. Probably Sirius, the Dog Star, 
under whose ascendancy, according to ancient beliefs, epidemic 
diseases prevailed. 

454. crest. That is, helmet and plume. 

466. Remember all thy valour. That is, summon up all your 
courage. 

469. girl's wiles. Explain the line. 

470. kindled. Roused, angered. 

481. unnatural : because of the kinship of the combatants. 

481-486. for a cloud, etc. A distinctly Homeric imitation. Cf. 
the cloud that enveloped Paris. — Book III. , 11. 465-469, of the Iliad. 

489. And the sun sparkled, etc. Why this reference to the clear 
Oxus stream at this moment of intense tragedy ? 

495. helm. Helmet ; defensive armor for the head. 

497. shore. Past tense of shear, to cut. 

499. bow'd his head : because of the force of the blow. 

508. curdled. Thickened as with fear. 

516. Rustum ! Why did this word so affect Sohrab ? Note the 
author's skill in working up to this climax in the narrative. 

527-539. Then with a bitter smile, etc. Compare these words 
of the victor, Rustum, with the words of Sohrab, 11. 427-447, when 
the advantage was with him. 

536. glad. Make happy. 

" That which gladded all the warrior train." 

— Dryden. 

M 



162 NOTES [Pages 17-23 

538. Dearer to the red jackals, etc. Cf. I. Sam. xvii. 44 : "Come 
to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the 
beasts of the field." Careful investigation will show the poem to 
abound with Biblical as well as classical parallelisms. 

556-575. As when some hunter, etc. One of the truly great 
similes in the English language. 

563. sole. Alone, solitary. From the Latin solus. 

570. glass. Reflect as in a mirror. ^ 

596. bruited up. Noised abroad. 

613. the style. The name or title. 

625. that old king. The king of Semenjan, See introductory 
note to poem. 

632. Of age and looks, etc. That is, of such age as he (Sohrab) 
would be, if born of his (Rustum's) union with Tahmineh. 

658-660. I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm, etc. This is Arnold's 
conception. In the original story Sohrab wore an onyx stone as an 
amulet. The onyx was supposed to incite the wearer to deeds of 
valor. 

664. corselet. Protective armor for the body. 

673. cunning. Skilful, deft. 

679. griffin. In the natural history of the ancients, an imagi- 
nary animal, half lion and half eagle. Here the Simurgh. See 
note, 1. 232. 

708-710. unconscious hand. Note how the dying Sohrab seeks 
to console the grief-stricken Rustum. 

** Such is my destiny, such is the will of fortune. 
It was decreed that I should perish by the hand of my father." 

— Shah Nameh. 

717. have found (him). Note the ellipsis. 

723-724. I came . . . passing wind. The Shah JVajiieh hsis — 

" I came like a flash of lightning, and now I depart like the wind." 



Pages 2:1-28] NOTES 163 

736. caked the sand. Hardened into cakes. 

751. Helmund. See note, 1. 83. 

752. Zirrah. Another lake in Seistan, southeast of Hamoon, 
now ahnost dry. 

763-765. Moorghab, Tejend and Kohik. Rivers of Turkestan 
which lose themselves in the deserts to the south of Bokhara. The 
northern Sir is the Sir Daria, or Jaxartes. See note, 1. 129. 

788. And heap a stately mound, etc. Persian tradition says that 
a large monument, in shape like the hoof of a horse, was placed 
over the spot where Sohrab was buried. 

830. on that day. Shortly after the death of Afrasiab, the Per- 
sian monarch Kai Khosroo, accompanied by a large number of 
his nobles, went to a spring far to the north, the location fixed 
upon as a place for their repose. Here the king died, and those 
who went with him afterward perished in a tempest. Sohrab 
predicted Rustum would be one of those lost, but tradition does 
not have it so. 

861. Persepolis. An ancient capital of Persia, the ruins of which 
are known as " the throne of Jemshid," after a mythical king. 

878. Chorasma. A region of Turkestan, the seat of a power- 
ful empire in the twelfth century, but now greatly reduced. Its 
present limits are about the same as those of Khiva. See note, 

I. 120. 

880. Right for the polar star. That is, due north. Orgunje. 
A village on the Oxus some seventy miles below Khiva, and near 
the head of its delta. 

890. luminous home. The Aral Sea. 

891. new bathed stars. As the stars appear on the horizon, 
they seem to have come up out of the sea. 

875-892. Discuss the poet's purpose in introducing the remark- 
able word-picture of these closing lines of the poem. See also note, 

II. 231-250, The Scholar-Gipsy. 



164 NOZES [Pages 28-29 

SAINT BRaNDAN (Page 28) 

In this poem Arnold has vividly presented a quaint legend of 
Judas Iscariot, popular in the Middle Ages. Saint Bran dan (490- 
577) was a celebrated Irish monk, famous for his voyages. "Ac- 
cording to the legendary accounts of his travels, he set sail with 
others to seek the terrestrial paradise which was supposed to exist 
in an island of the Atlantic. Various miracles are related of the 
voyage, but they are always connected with the great island where 
the monks are said to have landed. The legend was current in 
the time of Columbus and long after, and many connected St. 
Brandan's island with the newly discovered America. He is com- 
memorated on May 16." — The Centunj Cyclopedia of Names. 

7. Hebrides. A group of islands off the northwestern coast of 
Scotland. 

11. hurtling Polar lights. A reference to the rapid, changing 
movements of the Aurora Borealis. 

18. Of Jiair that red. According to tradition, Judas Iscariot's 
hair was red. 

21. sate. See note, 1. 199, Sohrah and Bustum. 

31. self-murder. After betraying Christ, Judas hanged himself. 
See Matt, xxvii. 5 and Acts i. 18. 

38. The Leper recollect. There is no scriptural authority for 
this incident. 

40. Joppa, or Jaffa. A small maritime town of Palestine — the 
ancient port of Jerusalem. There is also a small village called 
Jaffa in Galilee, some two miles southwest of Nazareth, which 
may have been the place the poet had in mind. 

Image the situation as presented in the first several stanzas. 
Why locate in the sea without a " human shore," 1. 12 ? Is there 
any especial reason for having the time Christmas night ? Note 



Pages 31-32] NOTES 165 

the dramatic introduction of Judas. What effect did his appear- 
ance have on the saint ? How was the latter reassured ? Give 
reasons why Judas felt impelled to tell his story. Tell the story. 
Does he praise or belittle his act of charity ? Why does he sajr^ 
"that chance act of good"? How was it rewarded? Explain 
his last expression. Was he about to say more ? If so, what? 
What effect did Judas's story have on Saint Brandan ? Why ? 
What is the underlying thought in the poem ? Discuss the form 
of verse used and its appropriateness to the theme. 

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN (Page 31) 

"The title of this poem inevitably brings to mind Tennyson's 
two poems, The Merman and The 3Iermaid. A comparison will 
show that, in this instance at least, the Oxford poet has touched 
his subject not less melodiously and with liner and deeper feel- 
ing, — Margaret will not listen to her ' Children's voices, wild with 
pain' ; — dearer to her is the selfish desire to save her own soul 
than is the light in the eyes of her little Mermaiden, dearer than 
the love of the king of the sea, who yearns for her with sorrow- 
laden heart. Here is there an infinite tenderness and an infinite 
tragedy." —Jj.Dupo'stSyle, Froin Hilton to Tennyso7i. . 

Legends of this kind abound among the sea-loving Gaelic and 
Cymric people. Nowhere, perhaps, have they been given a more 
pleasing and touching expression than in Arnold's poem. Note 
carefully the dramatic manner in which the pathos of the story is 
presented and developed. 

6. wild white horses. Breakers, whitecaps. 

13. Margaret. A favorite name with Arnold. See Isolation 
and A Dream in this volume. 

39. ranged. See note, 1. 73, TJie Strayed Beveller. 



lt;6 NOTES [Pages 32-35 

42. mail. Protective covering. 

64. Why " down swung the sound of a far-off bell " ? 

81. seal'd. Fastened; fixed intently upon, as though spell- 
bound. 

89-93. Hark . . . sun. In her song Margaret shows she is still 
keenly alive to human interests, temporal and spiritual. The 
priest, bell, and holy well (1. 91) symbolize tlie church, here 
Koman Catholic. The bell is used in the Roman Church to call 
especial attention to the more important portions of the service ; 
the well is the holy- water font. 

129. heaths starr'd with broom. The flower of the broom plant, 
common in England, is yellow ; hence, starred. 

In his work on Matthew Arnold, George Saintsbury speaks of 
this poem as follows: "It is, I believe, not so 'correct' as it 
once was to admire this [poem] ; but I confess indocility to cor- 
rectness, at least the correctness which varies with fashion. The 
Forsaken Merman is not a perfect poem — it has longueurs^ though 
it is not long ; it has its inadequacies, those incompetences of 
expression which are so oddly characteristic of its author ; and his 
elaborate simplicity, though more at home here than in some other 
places, occasionally gives a dissonance. But it is a great poem, — 
one by itself, — one which finds and keeps its own place in the fore- 
ordained gallery or museum, with which every true lover of poetry 
is provided, though he inherits it by degrees. None, I suppose, 
will deny its pathos ; I should be sorry for any one who fails to 
perceive its beauty. The brief picture of the land, and the fuller 
one of the sea, and that (more elaborate still) of the occupations 
of the fugitive, all have their charm. But the triumph of the 
piece is in one of those metrical coups, which give the triumph 
of all the gr'eatest poetry, in the sudden change from the slower 
movements of the earlier stanzas, or strophes, to the quicker sweep 
of the famous conclusions." 



Page 36] NOTES 167 

What is the opening situation in the poem ? Have the merman 
and his children just reached the shore, or liave they been there 
st)me time ? Why so ? Why does the merman still linger, when 
he is convinced that further delay will count for nothing ? Why 
does he urge the children to call ? What is shown by his repeated 
question — "was it yesterday"? Tell the story of Margaret's 
departure for the upper world, and discuss the validity of her 
reason for going. Do you think she intended to return ? Wliat 
is the significance of her smile just before departing? Give a 
word picture of what the sea-folk saw as they lingered in the 
churchyard. Will Margaret ever grieve for the past ? If so, 
when ? Why ? Who has your sympathy most, Margaret, tlie 
forsaken merman, or the children ? Why ? Do you condemn 
Margaret for the way she has done, or do you feel she was justified 
in her actions ? Discuss the versification, giving special attention 
to its effect on the movement of the poem. 

TRISTRAM AND ISEULT (Page 36) 

The story of Tristram and Iseult is one of the most vivid and 
passionate of the Arthurian cycle of legends, and is a favorite with 
the poets. The following version is abridged from Dunlop's His- 
tory of Fiction. 

"In the court of his uncle, King Marc, the king of Cornwall, 
who at this time resided at the castle of Tyntagel, Tristram became 
expert in all knightly exercises. . . . The king of Ireland, at Tris- 
tram's solicitation, promised to bestow his daughter Iseult in mar- 
riage on King Marc. . . . The mother of Iseult gave to her 
daughter's confidante a philtre, or love-potion, to be administered 
on the night of her nuptials. Of this beverage Tristram and Iseult 
unfortunately partook. Its influence, during the remainder of their 
lives, regulated the affections and destiny of the lovers. 



168 NOTES [Page 3G 

"After the arrival of Tristram and Iseult in Cornwall, and tlie 
nuptials of the latter with King Marc, a great part of the romance 
is occupied with their contrivances to procure secret, interviews. 
. . . Tristram, being forced to leave Cornwall on account of the 
displeasure of his uncle, repaired to Brittany, where lived Iseult 
with the White Hands. He married her, more out of gratitude 
than love. Afterwards he proceeded to the dominions of Arthur, 
which became the theatre of unnumbered exploits. 

" Tristram, subsequent to these events, returned to Brittany and 
to his long-neglected wife. There, being wounded and sick, he was 
soon reduced to the lowest ebb. In this situation he despatched a 
confidant to the queen of Cornwall to try if he could induce her to 
follow him to Brittany. 

" Meanwliile Tristram awaited the arrival of the queen with such 
impatience that he employed one of his wife's damsels to watch at 
the harbor. Through her, Iseult learned Tristram's secret, and, 
filled with jealousy, flew to her husband as the vessel which bore 
the queen of Cornwall was wafted toward the harbor, and reported 
that the sails were black (the signal that Iseult, Marc's queen, had 
refused Tristram's request to come to him). Tristram, penetrated 
with inexpressible grief, died. The account of Tristram's death 
was the first intelligence which the queen of Cornwall heard on 
landing. She was conducted to his chamber, and expired holding 
him in her arms." 

1. Is she not come? That is, Iseult of Ireland. Arnold's poem 
takes up the story at the point where Tristram, now on his death- 
bed, is watching eagerly for the coming of Iseult, Marc's queen, for 
whom he had sent his confidant to Cornwall. Evidently he has 
just awakened and is still somewhat confused ; see 1. 7. Surely 
none will fail to appreciate so dramatic a situation. 

5. What ... be ? That is, what lights are those to the north- 
ward, the direction fr.^m which Iseult would come ? 



Pages 36-41] NOTES 169 

8. Iseult. Here Iseult of the White Hands, daughter of King 
Hoel of Brittany and wife of Tristram. 

20. Arthur's court. Arthur, the half-mythical king of the Brit- 
ons, set up his court at Camelot, which Caxton locates in Wales 
and Malory near Winchester. Here was gathered the famous 
company of champions known as the "Knights of the Round 
Table," whose feats have been extensively celebrated in song and 
story. Among these knights Tristram held high rank, both as a 
warrior and a harpist. See 11. 17-19. 

23. Lyoness. A mythical region near Cornwall, the home coun- 
try of Arthur and Tristram. 

30-31. Hence the name, Iseult of the White Hands. 

56-68. See introductory note to poem for explanation. Tyn- 
tagel. A village in Cornwall near the sea. Near it is the ruined 
Tyntagel Castle, the reputed birthplace of Arthur. In the romance 
of Sir Tristram it is the castle of King Marc, the cowardly and 
treacherous king of Cornwall, the southwest county of England. 
teen. See note, 1. 147, The Scholar- Gipsy. 

88. wanders, in fancy. Note how the wounded knight's mind 
flits from scene to scene, always centring around Iseult of Ire- 
land. 

91. O'er . . . sea. The Irish Sea. He is dreaming of his return 
trip from Ireland with Iseult, " under the cloudless sky of May " 
(1. 96). 

129-132. See introductory note to poem. The green isle. Ire- 
land is noted for its green fields ; hence the name. Emerald (green) 
Isle. 

134. on loud Tyntagel' s hill. A high headland on the coast of 
Wales. Discuss the force of the adjective "loud" in this con- 
nection. 

137-160. And that . . . more. See introductory note to poem. 

161. pleasaunce-walks. A pleasure garden, screened by trees, 



170 NOTES [Pages 41-43 

shrubs, and close hedges — here a trysting-place. After the mar- 
riage of Iseult to King Marc, she and Tristram contrived to continue 
their relationship in secret. 

164. fay. Faith. (Obsolete except in poetry.) 

180. Tristram, having been discovered by King Marc in his 
intrigues with Iseult, vi^as forced to leave Cornwall ; hence his visit 
to Brittany and subsequent marriage to Iseult of the White Hands. 
See introductory note to poem. 

192. lovely orphan child. Iseult of Brittany. 

194. chatelaine. From the French, meaning the mistress of a 
chateau — a castle or fortress. 

200. stranger-knight, ill-starr'd. That is, Tristram, whose many 
mishaps argued his being born under an unlucky star. See also the 
account of his birth, note, 11. 83-86, Part II. 

203. Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard. Prior to his visit to 
Brittany, Tristram had imprisoned his uncle. King Marc, and 
eloped with Iseult to the domains of King Arthur. While there 
he resided at Joyous Gard, the favorite castle of Launcelot, which 
that knight assignefd to the lovers as their abode. 

204. Welcomed here. That is, in Brittany, where he was nursed 
back to health by Iseult of the White Hands. See introductory 
note to poem. 

215-226. His long rambles . . . ground. Account for Tristram's 
discontent, as indicated in these lines. 

234-237. All red . . . bathed in foam. The kings of Britain 
agreed with Arthur to make war upon Rome. Arthur, leaving 
Modred in charge of his kingdom, made war upon the Romans, and, 
after a number of encounters, Lucius Tiberius was killed and the 
Britons were victorious. — Geoffrey of Monmouth, Book IV, 
Chapter XV ; Book X, Chapters I-XIII. According to Malory, 
Arthur captured many French and Italian cities (see 11. 250-251) 
during this continental invasion, and was finally crowned king at 



Pages 43-48] NOTES 111 

Rome. It seems that he afterward despatched a considerable num- 
ber of his knights to carry the Christian faith among the heathen 
German tribes. See 11. 252-253. 

238. moonstruck knight. A reference to the mystical influence 
the ancients supposed the moon to exert over men's minds and 
actions. 

239. What foul fiend rides thee ? What evil spirit possesses you 
and keeps you from the fight ? 

240. her. That is, Iseult of Ireland. 
243. wanders forth again, in fancy. 
245. secret in his breast. What secret? 

250-253. See note, 11. 2o4-237. blessed sign. The cross. 

255. Roman Emperor. That is, Lucius Tiberius. See note, 
11. 284-237. 

258. leaguer. Consult dictionary. 

261. what boots it ? That is, what difference will it make ? 

303. recks not. Has no thought of (archaic). 

308-314. My princess . . . good night. Are Tristram's words 
sincere, or has he a motive in thus dismissing Iseult ? 

373-374. From a dramatic standpoint, what is the purpose of 
these two lines ? 

PART II 

With the opening of Part II the lovers are restored to each 
other. The dying Tristram, worn with fever and impatient with 
long waiting, unjustly charges Iseult with cruelty for not having 
come to him with greater haste. Her gentle, loving words, how- 
ever, quickly dispel his doubts as to her loyalty to her former 
vows. A complete reconciliation takes place, and they die in each 
other's embrace. The picture of the Huntsman on the arras is one 
of the most notable in English poetry. 



172 NOTES [Pages 49-55 

47, honied nothings. Explain. Compare with 

" his tongue 
Dropt manna." 

— Paradise Lost, 11. 112-113, Book II. 

81-88. Tristram was born in the forest, where his mother Isa- 
bella, sister to King Marc, had gone in search of her recreant 
husband. 

97-100. Tennyson, in The Last Tournament, follows Malory in 
the story of Tristram's and Iseult's death. "That traitor, King 
Mark, slew the noble knight, Sir Tristram, as he sat harping before 
his lady. La Beale Isoud, with a trenchant glaive, for whose death 
was much bewailing of every knight that ever was in Arthur's 
days . . . and La Beale Isoud died swooning upon the cross of Sir 
Tristram, whereof was great pity." — Malory's Morte d'' Arthur. 

113. sconce. Consult dictionary. 

116-122. Why this restlessness on the part of Iseult ? Why her 
frequent glances toward the door ? 

132. dogg'd. Worried, pursued. Coleridge uses the epithet 
"star-dogged moon," 1. 212, Part III, Tlie Ancient 3Iariner. 

147-193. For the poet's purpose in introducing the remarkable 
word-picture of these lines, see note on the Tyrian trader, 11. 231- 
250, The Scholar-Gipsy. 

PART III 

After the death of Tristram and Iseult of Ireland, our thoughts 
inevitably turn to Iseult of the White Hands. The infinite pathos 
of her life has aroused our deepest sympathy, and we naturally 
want to know further concerning her and Tristram's children. 

13. cirque. A circle (obsolete or poetical). See 1. 7, Part III. 

18. holly-trees and juniper. Evergreen trees common in Europe 
and America. 



Pages 55-59] * NOTES ' 173 

22. fell-fare (or field-fare) . A small thrush found in Northern 
Europe. 

26. stagshorn. A common club-moss. 

37. old-world Breton history. That is, the story of Merlin and 
Vivian, 11. 153-224, Part III. 

79-81. Compare with the following lines from Wordsworth's 
Michael : — 

" This light was famous in its neighborhood. 
. . . For, as it chanced, 
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground 
Stood single. . . . 

And from this constant light so regular 
And so far seen, the House itself, by all 
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale 
. . . was named The Evening Star." 

81. iron coast. This line inevitably calls to mind a stanza from 
Tennyson's Palace of Art : — 

" One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. 
You seemed to hear them climb and fall 
And roar, rock-thwarted, under bellowing caves, 
Beneath the windy wall." 

92. prie-dieu. Praying-desk. From the French prier, pray ; 
dieu, God. 

97. seneschal. A majordomo ; a steward. Originally meant 
old (that is, chief) servant ; from the Gothic sins^ old, and salks, 
a servant. — Skeat. 

134. gulls. Deceives, tricks. 

" The vulgar, gulled into rebellion, armed." 

— Dryden. 

140. posting here and there. That is, restlessly changing from 
place to place and from occupation to occupation. 
143-145. Like that bold Cassar, etc. Julius Caesar (100 ?-44 



174 NOTES • [Pages 59-62 

B.C.). The incident here alluded to is mentioned in Suetonius's 
Life of the Deified Julius^ Chapter VII. " P'arther Spain fell to 
the lot of Csesar as questor. When, at the command of the Roman 
people, he was holding court and had come to Cadiz, he noticed in 
the temple of Hercules a statue of Alexander the Great. At sight 
of this statue he sighed, as if disgusted at his own lack of achieve- 
ment, because he had done nothing of note by the time in life 
(Csesar was then thirty-two) that Alexander had conquered the 
world." (Free translation.) 

146-150. Prince Alexander, etc. Alexander III., surnamed 
"The Great" (350-323 b.c), was the most famous of Macedo- 
nian generals and conquerors, and the first in order of time of the 
four most celebrated commanders of whom history makes mention. 
In less than fifteen years he extended his domain over the known 
world and established himself as the universal emperor. He died 
at Babylon, his capital city, at the age of thirty-three, having 
lamented that there were no more worlds for him to conquer. 
(For the boundaries of his empire, see any map of his time.) Pope 
spoke of him as "The youth who all things but himself subdued." 
Soudan (1. 149). An obsolete term for Sultan, the Turkish ruler. 

153-224. The story of Merlin, King Arthur's court magician, 
and the enchantress Vivian is one of the most familiar of the 
Arthurian cycle of legends. Broce-liande (1. 156). In Cornwall. 
See 1. 61, Part I. fay (1. 159). Fairy, empire (1. 184). That is, 
power ; here supernatural power, wimple (1. 220) . A covering 
for the head. Is JVIerlin prisoner, etc. (1. 223). Merlin, the ma- 
gician, is thus entrapped by means of a charm he had himself com- 
municated to his mistress, the enchantress Vivian. Malory has 
Merlin imprisoned under a rock ; Tennyson, in an oak : — 

" And in the hollow oak he lay as dead 
And lost to life and use and name and fame." 

— 3IerUn and Vivian. 



Page (32] NOTES 175 

224. For she was passing weary, etc. 

" And she was ever passing weary of him." 

— Malory. 

Part I. What is the opening situation in the poem ? Why liave 
it a stormy night ? What does Tristram's question (1. 7) reveal 
of his condition physically and mentally ? What is the office of 
the parts of the poem coming between the intervals of conversa- 
tion ? How is the wounded knight identified ? How the lady ? 
Follow the wanderings of the sleeping Tristram's mind. Are 
the incidents he speaks of in" the order of their occurrence ? 
Explain 11. 102-103 ; 11. 161-169. Tell the story of Tristram and 
Iseult of the White Hands. What is shown by the fact that 
Tristram's mind dwells on Iseult of Ireland even at the time of 
battle ? How account for his wanderings ? For his morose frame 
of mind ? What change has come over nature when Tristram 
awakes ? Why this change ? What is his mood now ? Account 
for his addressing Iseult of Brittany as he does. Why his order for 
her to retire ? What is her attitude toward him ? Note the man- 
ner in which the children are introduced into the story (11. 324- 
325). Part II. Give the opening situation. Discuss the meeting 
of Tristram and Iseult. What is revealed by their conversation ? 
What is the purpose in introducing the Huntsman on the arras ? 
Part III. What is the purpose of 11. 1-4 ? Give the opening situa- 
tion in Part III. How is Iseult trying to entertain her children ? 
What kind of a life does she lead ? Discuss 11. 112-150 as to mean- 
ing and connection with the theme of the poem. Tell the story of 
Merlin and Vivian. Why introduced ? Compare Arnold's version 
of the story of Tristram and Iseult with the version given in the 
introductory note to the poem. 



176 NOTES [Pages 63 (39 

THE CHURCH OF BROU (Page 63) 
I. The Castle 

The church of Brou is actually located in a treeless Burgundian 
plain, and not in the mountains, as stated by the poet. 

1. Savoy. A mountainous district in eastern France ; formerly 
one of the divisions of the Sardinian States. 

3. mountain-chalets. Properly, herdsmen's huts in the moun- 
tains of Switzerland. 

17. prickers. Men sent into the thickets to start the game. 

35. dais. Here, a canopy or covering. 

69. erst. See note, 1. 32, The Scholar-Gipsy. 

71. chancel. The part of a church in which the altar is placed. 

72. nave. See note, 11. 70-76, Epilogue to Lessing^s Laocobn. 
77. palmers. Wandering religious votaries, especially those 

who bore branches of palm as a token that they had visited the 
Holy Land and its sacred places. 
109. fretwork. Representing open woodwork. 

II. The Church 

17. matin-chime. Bells for morning worship. 

21. Chambery. Capital of the department of Savoy Proper, on 
the Leysse. 

22. Dight. See 1. 275, Sohrab and Bustum. 

37. chiseird broideries. The carved draperies of the tombs. 

III. The Tomb 

6. transept. The transversal part of a church edifice, which 
crosses at right angles between the nave and the choir (the upper 
portion), thus giving to the building the form of a cross. 



Pages 70-72] NOTES 177 

39. foliaged marble forest. Note the epithet. 

45. leads. That is, the leaden roof. See 1. 1, Part II. 

REQUIESCAT (Page 70) 

This poem, one of Arnold's best-known shorter lyrics, combines 
with perfect taste, simplicity and elegance, with the truest pathos. 
It has been said there is not a false note in it. 

13. cabin'd. Used in the sense of being cramped for space. 

16. vasty. Spacious, boundless. 

"What is the significance of strewing on the roses ? Why " never 
a spray of yew" ? (See note, 1. 140, The Scholar- Gipsy.) What 
seems to be the author's attitude toward death ? (Read his poem, 
A Wish.) Discuss the poem as to its lyrical qualities. 

CONSOLATION (Page 71) 

14. Holy Lassa (that is. Land of the Divine Intelligence), the 
capital city of Thibet and residence of the Dalai, or Grand Lama, 
the pontifical sovereign of Thibet and East Asia. Here is located 
the great tem.ple of Buddha, a vast square edifice, surmounted by a 
gilded dome, the temple, together with its precincts, covering an 
area of many acres. Contiguous to it, on its four sides, are four 
celebrated monasteries, occupied by four thousand recluses, and 
resorted to as schools of the Buddhic religion and philosophy. 
There is, perhaps, no other one place in the world where so much 
gold is accumulated for superstitious purposes. 

17. Muses. See note, 1. 121, The Strayed Beveller. 

18. In their cool gallery. That is, in the Vatican art gallery at 
Rome. 

19. yellow Tiber. So called by the ancients because of the 
yellowish, muddy appearance of its waters. 



178 NOTES [Pages 72-76 

21. Strange unloved uproar. At the time this poem was writ- 
ten, — 1849, — the French army was besieging Rome. 

23. Helicon. ^eQnote^\.2\^ The Strayed Beveller, 
32. Erst. See note, 1. 32, The Scholar- Gipsy. 

48. Destiny. That is, Fate, the goddess of human destiny. 

In what mood is the author at the opening of the poem ? How 
does he seek consolation ? How does the calm of the Muses affect 
him ? Can you see how he might find help in dwelling on the 
pictures of the blind beggar and happy lovers ? What is the final 
thought of the poem ? Can you think of any other poem that has 
this as its central thought ? What do you think of the author's 
philosopliy of life as set forth in this poem ? Discuss the verse 
form used. 

LINES (Page 75) 

Written in Kensington Gardens 

The Kensington Gardens form one of the many beautiful public 
parks of London. They are located in the Kensington parish, a 
westei-n suburb of the city, lying north of the Thames and four 
miles west-southwest of St. Paul's. In his poem Arnold con- 
trasts the serenity of nature with the restlessness of modern life. 
" Not Lucan, not Vergil, only Wordsworth, has more beautifully 
expressed the spirit of Pantheism." — Herbert W. Paul. 

4. The pine trees here mentioned are since dead. 

14. What endless active life ! Compare with Arnold's sonnet 
of this volume, entitled Quiet Work, 11. 4-7 and 11-12. 

21. the huge world. London. 

24. Was breathed on by rural Pan. Note Arnold's classic way 
of accounting for his great love for nature, Pan being the nature 
god. See note, 1. 67, The Strayed Beveller. 



Page 77] NOTES 179 

37-42. Compare the thought here presented with the following 
lines from Wordsworth : — 

" These beauteous forms, 
. . . have not been to me 
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye. 
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din 
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, 
. . . sensations sweet 

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart ; 
And passing even into my purer mind. 
With tranquil restoration." 

Read also Wordsworth's Lines to the Daffodil. 

What is the dominant mood of the poem ? What evidently 
brought it to the author's mind ? How does he show his interest 
in nature ? In human beings ? What inspiration does the author 
seek from nature, 11. 37-42 ? Explain the meaning of the last two 
lines. 

THE STRAYED REVELLER (Page 77) 

" I have such a love for these forms and this old Greek world, 
that i^erhaps I infuse a little soul into my dealings with them, 
which saves me from being entirely ennuyx^ professorial and pedan- 
tic." (Matthew Arnold, in a letter to his sister, dated February, 
1858.) 

Circe, according to Greek mythology, was an enchantress, who 
dwelt in the island of ^sea, and who possessed the power to trans- 
form men into beasts. (See any mythological text on Ulysses' 
wanderings.) In Arnold's fantastic, visionary poem, the magic 
potion, by which this transformation is accomplished, affects not 
the body, but the mind of the youth. 

12. ivy-cinctured. That is, girdled with ivy, symbolic of Bac- 



180 NOTES [Pages 79-81 

chus, the god of wine and revelry, whose forehead was crowned 
with ivy. See also 1. 33. 

36. rout. Consult dictionary. 

38. lacchus. In the Eleusinian mysteries, Bacchus bore the 
name of lacchus. fane. A temple. From the Latin fanum. a 
place of worship dedicated to any deity. 

48. The lions sleeping. As Ulysses' companions approached 
Circe's palace, following their landing on her island, they found 
themselves "surrounded by lions, tigers, and wolves, not fierce, 
but tamed by Circe's art, for she was a powerful magician." 

67. Pan's flute music ! Pan, the god of pastures and woodlands, 
was the inventor of the syrinx, or shepherd's flute, with which he 
accompanied himself and his followers in the dance. 

71. Ulysses. The celebrated hero of the Trojan war ; also 
famous for his wanderings. One of his chief adventures, on his 
return voyage from Troy, was with the enchantress Circe, with 
whom he tarried a year, forgetful of his faithful wife, Penelope, at 
home. 

72. Art. That is, are you. (Now used only in solemn or poetic 
style.) 

73. range. Wander aimlessly about. 

74. See what the day brings. That is, the youth. See 11. 24- 
52. 

81. Nymphs. Goddesses of the mountains, forests, meadows, or 
waters, belonging to the lower rank of deities, 

102-107. Compare in thought with Tennyson's poem, Ulysses. 

110. The favour' d guest of Circe. Ulysses. See note, 1. 71. 

120. Muses. Daughters of Jupiter and Minemosyne, nine in 
number. According to the earliest writers the Muses were only 
the inspiring goddesses of song ; but later they were looked to as 
the divinities presiding over the different kinds of poetry, and 
over the arts and sciences. 



Pages 81-84] NOTES 181 

130-135. Note the poet's device for presenting a series of mental 
pictures. Compare' with Tennyson's plan in his Palace of Art. 
Does Arnold's plan seem more or less mechanical than Tennyson's? 

135-142. Tiresias. The blind prophet of Thebes (1. 142), the 
chief city in Boeotia, near the river Asopus (1. 138). In his youth, 
Tiresias unwittingly came upon Athene while she was bathing, and 
was punished by the loss of sight. As a recompense for this mis- 
fortune, the goddess afterward gave him knowledge of future 
events. The inhabitants of Thebes looked to Tiresias for direction 
in times of war. 

143. Centaurs. Monsters, half man, half horse. - 

145. Pelion. A mountain in eastern Thessaly, famous in Greek 
mythology. In the war between the giants and the gods, the former, 
in their efforts to scale the heavens, piled Ossa upon Olympus and 
Pelion upon Ossa. 

151-161. What in these lines enables you to determine the peo- 
ple and country alluded to ? 

162-167. Scythian . . . embers. The ancient Greek term for 
the nomadic tribes inhabiting the whole north and northeast 
Europe and Asia. As a distinct people they built no cities, and 
formed no general government, but wandered from place to place 
by tribes, in their rude, covered carts (see 1. 164), living upon the 
coarsest kind of food (11. 166-167). 

177-180. Clusters of lonely mounds, etc. That is, ruins of 
ancient cities. 

183. Chorasmian stream. See note, 1. 878, Sohrab and Bustum. 

197. milk-barr'd onyx-stones. A reference to the white streaks, 
or bars, common to the onyx. 

206. Happy Islands. Mythical islands lying far to the west, the 
abode of the heroes after death. 

220. Hera's anger. Hera (or Juno), wife to Jupiter, was noted 
for her violent temper and jealousy. She is here represented as 



182 NOTES [Pages 85-86 

visiting punishment upon the bard, perhaps out of jealousy of the 
gods -^ho had endowed him with poetic power, and his life, thus 
afflicted, seems lengthened to seven ages. 

228-229. Lapithag. In Greek legends, a fierce Thessalian race, 
governed by Pirothous, a half-brother to the Centaurs. Theseus. 
The chief hero of Attica, who, according to tradition, united the 
several tribes of Attica into one state, with Athens as the capital. 
His life was filled with adventure. The reference here is to the 
time of the marriage of Pirothous and Hippodamia, on which 
occasion the Centaurs, who were among the guests, became intoxi- 
cated, and offered indignities to the bride. In the fight that fol- 
lowed, Theseus joined with the Lapithse, and many of the Centaurs 
were slain. 

231. Alcmena's dreadful son. Hercules. On his expedition to 
capture the Arcadian boar, his third labor, Hercules became in- 
volved in a broil with the Centaurs, and in self-defence slew several 
of them with his arrows. 

245. Oxus stream. See note, 1. 2, Sohrah and Bustum. 

254. Heroes. The demigods of mythology. 

257. Troy. The capital of Troas, Asia Minor ; the seat of the 
Trojan war. 

254-260. Shortly after the close of the Trojan war, a party of 
heroes from all parts of Greece, many of whom had participated in 
the expeditions against Thebes and Troy, set out under the leader- 
ship of Jason to capture the Golden Fleece. Leaving the shores 
of Thessaly, the adventurers sailed eastward and finally came to 
the entrance of the Euxine Sea (the unknown sea, 1. 260), which 
was guarded by the Clashing Islands. Following the instructions 
of the sage Phineus, Jason let fly a dove between the islands, and 
at the moment of rebound the expedition passed safely through. 
The ship in which the adventurers sailed was called the Argo, after 
its builder, Argus ; hence our term Argonauts. 



Pages 86-89] NOTES 183 

261. Silenus. A divinity of Asiatic origin ; foster-father to Bac- 
chus and leader of the Fauns (1. 265), satyr-like divinities, half 
man, half goat, sometimes represented in art as bearing torches 
(1.274). 

275. Maenad. A bacchante, — a priestess or votary of Bacchus. 

276. Faun with torches. See note, 1. 261. 

What is the situation at the beginning of the poem ? What 
effect does the " liquor" have upon the youth ? Why is the pres- 
ence of Ulysses so much in harmony with the situation ? How does 
he greet Circe ; how the youth ? What does his presence suggest 
to the latter ? Why ? Note the vividness of the pictures he de- 
scribes ; also the swiftness with which he changes from one to an- 
other. What power is ascribed to the poet ? Why his " pain " ? 
What effect is gained by closing the poem with the same words with 
which it is opened ? Why the irregular verse used ? 

DOVER BEACH (Page 88) 

In this poem is expressed the peculiar turn of Arnold's mind, 
at once religious and sceptical, philosophical and emotional. It is 
one of his most passionate interpretations of life. 

15. Sophocles (495-406 b.c). One of the three great tragic 
poets of Greece. His rivals were ^schylus (525-456 b.c.) and 
Euripides (486-406 b.c). 

16. -ffigean Sea. See note, 1. 236, The Scholar- Gipsy. 

Image the scene in the opening stanzas. What is the author's 
mood ? Why does he call some one to look on the scene with him ? 
What is the "eternal note of sadness"? Why connect it in 
thought with the sea ? Why does this thought suggest Sophocles ? 
What thought next presents itself to the author's mind ? From 



184 NOTES [Page 90 

what source must one's help and comfort then be drawn ? Why so ? 
Why the irregular versification ? State the theme of the poem. 

PHILOMELA (Page 90) 

"Philomela unites the sensibilities and intellectual experience 
of modern Englishmen with the luminousness and simplicity of 
Greek poetry." — Saintsbury. 

The myth of the nightingale has long been a favorite with the 
poets, who have variously interpreted the bird's song. See Cole- 
ridge's, Keats's, and Wordsworth's poems on the subject. The 
most common version of the myth, the one followed by Arnold, 
is as follows : — 

" Pandion (son of Erich thonius, special ward to Minerva) had two 
daughters, Procne and Philomela, of whom he gave the former in 
marriage to Tereus, king of Thrace (or of Daulis in Phocis). 
This ruler, after his wife had borne him a son, Itys (or Itylus), 
wearied of her, plucked out her tongue by the roots to insure her 
silence, and, pretending that she was dead, took in marriage the 
otber sister, Philomela. Procne, by means of a web, into which 
she wove her story, informed Philomela of the horrible truth. In 
revenge upon Tereus, the sisters killed Itylus, and served up the 
child as food to the father ; but the gods, in indignation, trans- 
formed Procne into a swallow, Philomela into a nightingale, forever 
bemoaning the murdered Itylus, and Tereus into a hawk, forever 
pursuing the sisters." — Gayley's Classic 3Iyths. ' 

4. Use the subjoined questions in studying the poem. ^ 

5. wanderer from a Grecian shore. See note, 1. 27. 

8. Note the aptness and beauty of the adjectives in this line, not 
one of which could be omitted without irreparable loss. 

18. Thracian wild. Thrace was the name used by the early 
Greeks for the entire region north of Greece, 



Pages 90-91] NOTES 185 

21. The too clear web, etc. See introductory note to poem for 
explanation of this and the following lines. 

27. Daulis. A city of Phocis, Greece, twelve miles northeast of 
Delphi ; the scene of the myth of Philomela. Cephessian vale. 
The valley of the Cephissus, a small stream running through 
Doris, Phocis, and Boeotia, into the Euboean Gulf. 

29. How thick the bursts, etc. Compare with the following 
lines from Coleridge : — 

" 'Tis the merry nightingale 
That crowds and hurries and precipitates 
With fast, thick warble his delicious notes, 
As he were fearful that an April night 
Would be too short for him to utter forth 
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul 
Of all its music! " 

— The Nightingale. 
Also 

** O Nightingale! thou surely art 
A creature of a ' fiery heart ' : — 
These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce ; 
Tumultuous harmony and fierce! 
Thou sing'st as if the god of wine 
Had helped thee to a Valentine." 

— Wordsworth. 
31-32. Eternal passion ! 

Eternal pain ! Compare : — 

" Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains." 

— Coleridge, To a Nightingale. 
and 

"Sweet bird . . . 
Most musical, most melancholy! " 

— Milton, II Penseroso. 

Image the scene in the poem. How does the author secure the 
proper atmosphere for the theme of the poem ? Account for the 



186 ^OmS [Pages 91-92 

note of triumph in the nightingale's song ; note of pain. What 
is shown by the poet's question, 11. 10-15 ? What new qualities 
are added to the nightingale's song, 1. 25? Account for them. 
Why eternal passion, eternal pain ? Do you feel the form of 
verse used (Pindaric blank) to be adapted to the theme ? 

HUMAN LIFE (Page 91) 

4. kept uninfringed my nature's law. That is, have lived a 
perfect life. 

5. inly-written chart. The conscience. 

8. incognisable. Not to be comprehended by finite mind. 
23. prore. Poetical word for prow, the fore part of a ship. 
27. stem. Consult dictionary. 

What important incident in the destiny of the soul is alluded to 
in stanza 1 ? Interpret 11. 18-14, and apply to your own experi- 
ence. Why cannot we live " chance's fool " ? Is there any hint 
of fatalism in the poem, or are we held accountable for our ow: 
destiny ? 

ISOLATION (Page 92) 



i| 



To Marguerite, on Returning a Volume of the 
Letters of Ortis 

This poem, the fifth in a loosely connected group of lyrics, 
under the general name Switzerland, is a .continuation of the 
preceding poem. Isolation — to Marguerite, and is properly enti- 
tled. To Marguerite — Continued. When printed separately, the 
above title is used. 

Jacopo Ortis was a pseudonym of the Italian poet, Ugo Foscolo. 
His Ultime Lettere di Ortis was translated into the English in 1818. 



Pages 92-93] NOTES 187 

1. Yes ! Used in answer to the closing thought of the preceding 
poem. 

7. moon. Note the frequency with which reference to the 
moon, with its light effects, appears in Arnold's lines. Can you 
give any reason for this ? 

25. Mr. Herbert W. Paul, commenting on this line, says: 
^''Isolation winds up with one of the great poetic phrases of the 
century — one of the 'jewels five (literally five) words long' of 
English verse — a phrase complete and final, with epithets in 
unerring cumulation." 

Give the poem's theme. To what is each individual likened ? 
Discuss 1. 2 as to meaning. In what sense do we live "alone," 
1. 4 ? Why " endless bounds," 1, 6 ? How account for the feeling 
of despair, 1. 13 ? Answer the questions asked in the last stanza. 
In what frame of mind does the poem leave you ? 

KAISER DEAD (Page 93) 
April 6, 1887 

Arnold's love for animals, especially his household pets, was 
most sincere. Despite the playful irony of his poem, there is in 
the minor key an undertone of genuine sorrow. " We have just 
lost our dear, dear mongrel, Kaiser," he wrote in a letter dated 
from his home in Cobham, Kent, April 7, 1887, "and we are very 
sad." The poem was written the following July, and was pub- 
lished in the Fortnightly Review for that month. 

2. Cobham. See note above. 

3. Farringford, in the Isle of Wight, was the home of Lord 
Tennyson. 

5. Pen-bryn's bold bard. Sir Lewis Morris, author of the Epic 
of Hades, lived at Pen-bryn, in Caermarthanshire. 



188 NOTES [Pages 94-06 

11-12. In Burns's poem, Poor Maine's Elegy, occur the follow- 
ing lines : — 

" Come, join the melancholious croon 
O' Robin's reed." 

20. Potsdam. The capital of the government district of Pots- 
dam, in the province of Brandenburg, Prussia ; hence the dog's 
name, Kaiser. 

41. the Grand Old Man. Gladstone. 

50. agog. In a state of eager excitement. 

65. Geist. Also remembered in a poem entitled GeisVs Grave, 
included in this volume. 

76. chiel. A Scotch word meaning lad, fellow. 

"Buirdly chiels an clever hizzies." 

— Burns, The Twa Dogs. 

Skye. The largest of the Inner Hebrides. See note, 1. 7, Saint 
Brandan. 

THE LAST WORD (Page 96) ^ 

In this poem Arnold describes the plight of one engaged in a 
hopeless struggle against an uncompromising, Philistine world too 
strong for him. 

■ State the central thought in the poem. To whom is it addressed ? 
What is the narrow bed, 1. 1 ? Why give up the struggle ? With 
whom has it been waged ? Explain fully 1. 4. What is implied 
in 1. 6 ? What is meant by ringing shot, 1. 11 ? Who are the 
victors, 1. 14 ? What would they probably say on finding the body 
near the wall ? Can you think of any historical characters of 
whom the poem might aptly have been written ? 



Page 97] NOTES 189 



PALLADIUM (Page 97) 

At the time of the Trojan war there was in the citadel of Troy 
a celebrated statue of Pallas Athene, called the Palladium. It was 
reputed to have fallen from heaven as the gift of Zeus, and the 
belief was that the city could not be taken so long as this statue 
remained within it. Ulysses and Diomedes, two of the Greek 
champions, succeeded in entering the city in disguise, stole the 
Palladium and carried it off to the besiegers' camp at Argos. It 
was some time, however, before the city fell. 

1. Simois. A small river of the Troad which takes its rise in 
the rocky, wooded eminence which, according to Greek tradition, 
formed the acropolis of Troy. The Palladium was set up on its 
banks near its source, in a temple especially erected for it (1. 6), 
and from this lofty position was supposed to watch over the safety 
of the city and her defenders on the plains below. 

3. Hector. Hector, son of Priam, king of Troy (Ilium), and his 
wife, Hecuba, was the leader and champion of the Trojan armies. 
He distinguished himself in numerous single combats with the 
ablest of the Greek heroes ; and to him was principally due the 
stubborn defence of the Trojan capital. He was finally slain by 
Achilles, aided by Athene, and his body dragged thrice around 
the walls of Troy behind the chariot of his conqueror. 

14. Xanthus. The Scamander, the largest and most celebrated 
river of the Troad, near which Troy was situated, was presided 
over by a deity known to the gods as Xanthus. His contest with 
Achilles, whom he so nearly overwhelmed, forms a notable incident 
of the Iliad. 

15. Ajax, or Aiax. One of the leading Greek heroes in the siege 
of Troy, famous for his size, physical strength, and beauty. In 
bravery and feats of valor he was second only to Achilles, Not 



190 NOTES [Pages 97-99 

being awarded the armor of Achilles after that hero's death, he 
slew himself. 

16. Helen, the wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, was celebrated 
for her beauty, by reason of which frequent references are made to 
her by both classic and modern writers. Goethe introduces her in 
the second part of Faust, and Faustus, in Marlowe's play of that 
name, addresses her thus : — 

"Oh! thou art fairer than the evening air 
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." 

Her abduction by Paris, son of Priam (see note, 1. 3), was the 
cause of the Trojan war, the most notable incident of Greek 
mythology, which forms the theme of Homer's greatest poem, 
the Tliad. 

What is the central thought of the poem ? Of what is the Pal- 
ladium typical? Explain the thought in stanza 3. What is the 
force of the references of stanza 4 ? Discuss the use of the words 
"rust" and "shine," 1. 17. Just what is meant by "soul" as 
the word is used in the poem? 



SELF-DEPENDENCE (Page 99) 

Self-Dependence is a poem in every respect characteristic of its 
author. In it Arnold exhorts mankind to seek refuge from human 
troubles in the example of nature. 

Picture the situation in the poem. What is the poet's mood as 
shown in the opening stanzas ? From what source does he seek 
aid ? Why ? What answer does he receive ? What is the source 
of nature's repose ? Where and how must the human soul find 
its contentment? 



Pages 103-107] NOTES 191 



GEIST'S GRAVE (Page 103) 

This poem appeared in the January number of the Fortnightly 
Beview for 1881. 

12. homily. Sermon. 

15. the Virgilian cry. Sunt lacrimce remm ! These words are 
interpreted in the following line. 

42. On lips that rarely form them now. Arnold wrote but little 
poetry after 1867. 

65-56. thine absent master. Richard Penrose Arnold, the 
poet's only surviving son. 



EPILOGUE TO LESSING'S LAOCOON (Page 106) 

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-1781) was a celebrated German 
dramatist and critic. For a time he studied theology at Leipsic, 
then turned his attention to the stage, and later to criticism. His 
greatest critical work (1766) is a treatise on Art, the famous Greek 
statuary group, the Laocoon, which gives the work its name, form- 
ing the basis for a comparative discussion of Sculpture, Poetry, 
Painting, and Music. 

1. Hyde Park. The largest park in London, and the principal 
recreation ground of that city. 

15. Phoebus-guarded ground. Greece. Phoebus, a name often 
given Apollo, the sun god. 

16. Pausanias. A noted Greek geographer and writer on art 
who lived in the second century. " His work, The Gazetteer of 
Hellas^ is our best repertory of information for the topography, 
local history, religious observances, architecture, and sculpture of 
the different states of Greece." — K. O. MUller, History of the 
Literature of Ancient Greece. 



192 NOTES [Pages 107-110 

21-22. Dante (1265-1321), Petrarch (1304-1374), Tasso (1544- 
1595), Ariosto (1475-1533). Celebrated Italian poets. 

25. Raphael (1483-1520). The famous Italian painter. 

29. Goethe (1749-1832). The greatest name in German litera- 
ture. His works include poetry, dramas, and criticisms. Words- 
worth (1770-1850). See the poem, 3femorial Verses, of this volume. 

35. Mozart (1756-1791), Beethoven (1770-1827), Mendelssohn 
(1809-1847). Noted musicians and composers. 

42. south. Warm. 

43-48. Cyclops Polyphemus, famous in the story of Ulysses, 
was a persistent and jealous suitor of Galatea, the fairest of sea 
divinities. So ardent was he in his wooings, that he would leave 
his flocks to wander at will, while he sang his uncouth lays from 
the hilltops to Galatea in the bay below. Her only answers were 
words of scorn and mockery. See Andrew Lang's translation of 
Theocritus, Idyl VI, for further account. 

70-76. Abbey towers. That is, Westminster Abbey, a mile's 
distance to the south and east of Hyde Park. The abbey is built 
in the form of a cross, the body or lower part of which is termed 
the nave (1. 73). The upper portion is occupied by the choir, 
the anthems of which, with their organ accompaniments, are 
alluded to in 11. 74-77. 

89-106. Miserere Dominel Lord, have 7nercy ! These words are 
from the service of the Church of England. The meaning in 
these lines is that Beethoven, in his masterpieces, has transferred 
the thoughts and feelings, above inadequately expressed in words, 
into another and more emotional tongue ; that is, music. 

107. Ride. A famous driveway in Hyde Park, commonly called 
Rotten Row. 

119. vacant. Thoughtless ; not occupied with study or reflection. 

" For oft, when on my couch I lie 
In vacant or in pensive mood." 
— Wordsworth's Lines to the Daffodils, 11. 19-20. 



Pages 110-115] NOTES 193 

124. hies. Hastens (poetical). 

130. painter and musician too ! Arnold held poetry to be equal 
to painting and music combined. 

140. movement. Activities. Explained in the following lines. 

163-210. Note carefully the argument used to prove that poetry 
interprets life more accurately and effectively than any of the other 
arts. Homer, the most renowned of all Greek poets. The time in 
which he lived is not definitely known. Shakespeare (1564-1616). 

Give the setting of the story. What was the topic of conversa- 
tion ? What stand did the poet's friend take regarding poetry ? 
Why turn to Greece in considering the arts ? What limitations of 
the painter's art are pointed out by the poet ? What is his atti- 
tude toward music ? What finally is "the poet's sphere," 1. 127 ? 
Wherein then is poetry superior to the other arts ? Does the 
author prove his point by his poem ? Discuss the poem as to 
movement, diction, etc. 

QUIET WORK (Page 115) 

No poet, not even Wordsworth, was more passionately fond of 
nature than Arnold. Note his attitude in the poem. 
1. One lesson. What lesson ? 
4. Discuss the use of the adjective " loud " ; also " noisier," 1. 7. 

Note the essential elements of sonnet structure in metre, rhyme 
formula, and number of lines. See the introduction to Sharp's 
Sonnets of this Century. 

SHAKESPEARE (Page 115) 

Despite this tribute, Arnold considered Homer Shakespeare's 
equal, if not his superior. 



194 NOTES [Pages 115-117 

What do Shakespeare's smile and silence imply on his part ? 
Explain in full the figure used. Do j ou consider it apt ? Why 
"Better so," 1. 10? What is there in the poem that helps you 
to see wherein lay Shakespeare's power to interpret life ? Select 
the lines which most impress you, and tell why. 



YOUTH'S AGITATIONS (Page 116) 

This sonnet was written in 1852, when the poet was in his thir- 
tieth year. 

5. joy. Be glad, heats. Passions. 

6. even clime. That is, in the less emotional years of maturity. 
12. hurrying fever. See note, 1. 5. 



AUSTERITY OF POETRY (Page 117) 

1. That son of Italy. Giacopone di Todi. 

2. Dante (1265-1321). Best known as the author of The Di- 
vine Comedy. 

3. In his light youth. Explain. 

11. sackcloth. Symbolic of mourning or mortification of the 
flesh. 

Tell the story of the poem and make the application. Explain 
Arnold's idea of poetry as set forth in 11. 12-14. 



WORLDLY PLACE (Page 117) 

3. Marcus Aurelius (121-180 a.d.), commonly called "the 
philosopher." A celebrated Roman emperor, prominent among 
the ethical teachers of his time. Arnold himself has been aptly 



Pages 117-119] NOTES 195 

styled by Sharp an ' ' impassioned Marcus Aurelius, wrought by 
poetic vision and emotion to poetic music." 

6. foolish. In the sense of unreasonable, ken. The Scotch 
word meaning sight. 

7. rates. Berates, reproves. 

Give the poem's theme. What is implied by the word "even," 
1. 1 ? Does the author agree with the implication ? Why so ? 
Discuss 1. 5 as to its meaning. Interpret the expressions " ill- 
school'd spirit," 1. 11, and " Some nobler, ampler stage of life," 
1. 12. Where finally are the aids to a nobler life to be found ? 
Do you agree with this philosophy of life ? 



EAST LONDON (Page 118) 

2. Bethnal Green. An eastern suburb of London. 
4. Spitalfields. A part of northeast London, comprising the 
parishes of Bethnal Green and Christchurch. 

Image the scene. What is the purpose of the first four lines ? 
Discuss 1. 6. What is the import of the preacher's response? 
What are the poet's conclusions drawn in 11. 9-14 ? 



WEST LONDON (Page 119) 

1. Belgrave Square. An important square in the western part 
of London. 

Tell the situation and the story of the poem. Why did the 
woman solicit aid from the laboring men ? Why not from the 
wealthy ? Explain 11. 9-11. What is the poet's final conclusion ? 



196 NOTES [Page 121 

MEMORIAL VERSES (Page 121) 

April, 1850 

Wordsworth died at Rydal Mount, in the Lake District, April 
23, 1850. These verses, dedicated to his "memory, are among 
Arnold's best-known, lines. For adequacy of meaning and charm 
of expression, they are almost unsurpassed ; they also contain 
some of the poet's soundest poetical criticism. The poem was 
first published in Fraser^s Magazine for June, 1850, and bore 
the date of April 27. 

1. Goethe in Weimar sleeps. The tomb of Goethe, the cele- 
brated German author (see note, 1. 30, Epilogue to Lessing'^s 
Laoco'on), is in Weimar, the capital of the Grand-duchy of Saxe- 
Weimar. Weimar is noted as the literary centre of Germany, and 
for this reason is styled the German Athens. 

2. Bjnon. George Gordon Byron (1788-1824), a celebrated Eng- 
lish poet of the French Revolutionary period, died at Missolonghi, 
Greece, where he had gone to help the Greeks in their struggle to 
throw off the Turkish yoke. He was preeminently a poet of pas- 
sion, and, as such, exerted a marked influence on the literature of 
his day. His petulant, bitter rebellion against all law has become 
proverbial ; hence the term " Byronic." The Titans (1. 14) were 
a race of giants who warred against the gods. The aptness of 
the comparison made here is at once evident. In Arnold's son- 
net, A Picture at Newstead, also occur these lines : — 

" ' Twas not the thought of Byron, of his cry 
Stormily sweet, his Titan-agony." 

17. iron age. In classic mythology, " The last of the four great 
ages of the world described by Hesiod, Ovid, etc. It was supposed 
to be characterized by abounding oppression, vice, and misery." — 



Pages 122-123] NOTES 197 

International Dictionary. The preceding ages, in order, were the 
age of gold, the age of silver, and the age of brass. 

34-39. Eurydice, wife of Orpheus, was stung to death by a 
serpent, and passed to the realm of the de'ad — Hades. Thither 
Orpheus descended, and, by the charm of his lyre and song, per- 
suaded Pluto to restore her to life. This he consented to do on 
condition that she walk behind her husband, who was not to look 
at her until they had arrived in the upper world. Orpheus, how- 
ever, looked back, thus violating the conditions, and Eurydice was 
caught back into the infernal regions. 

" The ferry guard 
Now would not row him o'er the lake again." 

— Landor. 

72. Rotha. A small stream of the English Lake Region, on 
which Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's burial-place, is situated. 

THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY (Page 123) 

"There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford who 
was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there and at last to 
join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. Among these 
extravagant people, by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage, he 
quickly got so much of their love and esteem that they discovered 
to him their mystery. After he had been a pretty whHe exer- 
cised in the trade, there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars 
who had formerly been of his acquaintance. They quickly spied 
out their old friend among the gipsies, and he gave them an ac- 
count of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life, and 
told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as 
they were taken for, but that they had a traditional kind of learn- 
ing among them, and could do wonders by the power of imagina- 
tion, their fancy binding that of others ; that himself had learned 



198 NOTES [Pages 123-125 

much of their art, and when he had compassed the whole secret, 
he intended, he said, to leave their company, and give the world 
an account of what he had learned." — Glanvil's Vanity of 
Dogmatizing, 1661. 

2. wattled cotes. Sheepfolds. Probably suggested by Milton's 
Comus, 1. 344 : — 

" The folded flocks, penned in their icattled cotes. 

9. Cross and recross. Infinitives depending upon seen, 1. 8. 
13. cruse. Commonly associated in thought with the story of 
Elijah and the widow of Zarephath, i Kings, xvii : 8-16. 
19. corn. See note, 1. 156, Sohrah and Bustum. 

30. Oxford towers. " Oxford, the county town of Oxfordshire 
and the seat of one of the most ancient and celebrated universities 
in Europe, is situated amid picturesque environs at the confluence 
of the Cherwell and the Thames (often called in its upper course 
the Isis). It is surrounded by an amphitheatre of gentle hills, the 
tops of which command a fine view of the city with its domes 
and towers." — Baedeker's Gt'eat Britain, in his Handbooks for 
Travellers. In writing of Oxford, Hawthorne says: "The world, 
surely, has not another place like Oxford ; it is a despair to see 
such a place and ever to leave it, for it would take a lifetime, and 
more than one, to comprehend and enjoy it satisfactorily." See 
also note, 1. 19, Thyrsis. 

31. Glanvil's book. See introductory note to poem. 
42. erst. Formerly. (Obsolete except in poetry.) 
44-50. See introductory note to poem. 

57. Hurst. Cumner (or Cumnor) Hurst, one of the Cumnor 
range of hills, some two or three miles south and west of Oxford, 
is crowned with a clump of cedars ; hence the name " Hurst." 

58. Berkshire moors. Berkshire is the county, or shire, on the 
south of Oxford County. 



Pages 126-128] NOTES 199 

69. green-muffled. Explain the epithet. 

74. Bablockhithe. A small town some four miles west and a 
little south of Oxford, on the Thames, which at that point is a mere 
stream crossed by a ferry. This and numerous other points of 
interest in the vicinity of Oxford are frequented by Oxford stu- 
dents ; hence Arnold's familiarity with them and his reference to 
them in this poem and Thyrsis. See any atlas. 

79. Wychwood bowers. That is, Wychwood Forest, ten or 
twelve miles north and west of Oxford. See note, 1. 74. 

83. To dance around the Fyfield elm in May. Fyfield, a parish 
in Berkshire, about six miles southwest of Oxford. The reference 
here is to the "May-day" celebrations formerly widely observed 
in Europe, but now nearly disappeared. The chief features of the 
celebration in Great Britain are the gathering of hawthorn blos- 
soms and other flowers, the crowning of the May-queen and 
dancing around the May-pole — here the Fyfield elm. See note, 
1. 74. Read Tennyson's poem. The Queen o' the May. 

91. Godstow Bridge. Some two miles up the Thames from 
Oxford. 

95. lasher pass. An English term corresponding to our mill 
race. The lasher is the dam, or weir. 

98. outlandish. Analyze the word and determine meaning. 

111. Bagley Wood. South and west of Oxford, beyond South 
Hinksey. See note, 1. 125 ; also note, 1. 74, 

114. tagg'd. That is, marked ; the leaves being colored by frost. 

115. Thessaly. The northeastern district of ancient Greece, 
celebrated in mythology. Here a forest ground near Bagley 
Wood. See note, 1. Ill ; also note, 1. 74. 

125. Hinksey. North and South Hinksey are unimportant 
villages a short distance out from Oxford in the Cumnor Hills. 
See note, 1. 74. 

129. Christ Church hall. The largest and most fashionable col- 



200 NOTES [Pages 128-130 

lege in Oxford ; founded by Cardinal Wolsey in 1525. The chapel 
of Christ Church is also the cathedral of the diocese of Oxford. 

130. grange. Consult dictionary. 

133. Glanvil. Joseph Glanvil, 1636-1680. A noted English 
divine and philosopher ; author of a defence of belief in witchcraft. 

140. red-fruited yew tree. The yew tree is very common in 
English burial-grounds. It grows slowly, lives long, has a dark, 
thick foliage, and yields a red berry. See Wordsworth's celebrated 
poem, Tlie Yew-Tree. 

141-170. "This note of lassitude is struck often — perhaps too 
often — in Arnold's poems." — Du Pont Syle. See also The Stan- 
zas hi Memory of the Author of Ohermann. For the author's less 
despondent mood, see his Rughij Chapel^ included in this volume. 

147. teen. Grief, sorrow ; from the old English teona, meaning 
injury. 

149. the just-pausing Genius. Does the author here allude to 
death ? 

151. Thou hast not lived (so). That is, as described in preced- 
ing stanza. 

152. Thou hadst one aim, etc. What was the Scholar-Gipsy's 
07ie motive in life ? 

157-160. But thou possessest an immortal lot, etc. Explain. 

165. Which much to have tried, etc. Which many attempts and 
many failures bring. 

180. do not we . . . await it too? That is, the spark from 
heaven. See 1. 171. 

182-190. Possibly Carlyle, although the author may have had 
in mind a type rather than an individual. 

208-209. Averse, as Dido did, etc. Dido, the mythical queen of 
Carthage, being deserted by her lover iEneas, slew herself. She 
afterward met him on his journey through Hades, but turned from 
him in scorn. 



i>AGES 130-131] NOTES 201 

*' In vain he thus attempts her mind to move 
With tears and prayers and late repenting love ; 
Disdainfully she looked, then turning round 
But fixed her eyes unmoved upon the ground, 
And what he says and swears regards no more 
Than the deaf rocks when the loud billows roar." 

— Dryden's Translation. 

For entire episode, see ^neid^ vi, 450-476. 

212. inviolable shade. Holy, sacred, not susceptible to corrup- 
tion. Perhaps no other of Arnold's lines is so much quoted as this 
and the preceding line. 

214. Why "silver'd" branches? 

220. dingles. Wooded dells. 

231-250. Note the force of this elaborate and exquisitely sus- 
tained image ; how the mind is carried back from these turbid days 
of sick unrest to the clear dawn of a fresh and healthy civilization. 
In the course of an essay on Arnold, the late Mr. Richard Holt 
Hutton says of this poem and this closing picture : "That most 
beautiful and graceful poem on the Scholar-Gipsy (the Oxford stu- 
dent who is said to have forsaken academic study in order to learn, 
if it might be, those potent secrets of nature, the traditions of 
which the gypsies are supposed sedulously to guard) ends in a 
digression of the most vivid beauty. . . . Nothing could illustrate 
better than this [closing] passage Arnold's genius and his art. 
. . . His whole drift having been that care and effort and gain 
and pressure of the world are sapping human strength, he ends 
with a picture of the old-world pride and daring, which exhibits 
human strength in its freshness and vigor. ... I could quote 
poem after poem which Arnold closes by some such buoyant 
digression : a buoyant digression intended to shake off the tone of 
melancholy, and to remind us that the world of imaginative life is 
still wide open to us. . . . This problem is insoluble, he seems to 



202 NOTES [Pages 131-13^ 

say, but insoluble or not, let us recall the pristine force of the 
human spirit, and not forget that we have access to great resources 
still. . . . Arnold, exquisite as his poetry is, teaches us first to 
feel, and then to put by, the cloud of mortal destiny. But he does 
not teach us, as Wordsworth does, to bear it." 

232. As some grave Tyrian trader, etc. Tyre, the second oldest 
and most important city of Phoenicia, was, in ancient times, a 
strong competitor for the commercial supremacy of the Mediter- 
ranean. 

236. ^gean Isles. The iEgean Sea, that part of the Mediter- 
ranean lying between Greece on the west, European Turkey on the 
north, and Asia Minor on the east, is dotted with numerous small 
islands, many of which are famous in Greek mythology. 

238. Chian wine. Chios, or Scio, an island in the J^gean Sea 
(see note above), was formerly celebrated for its wine and figs. 

239. tunnies. A fish belonging to the mackerel family ; found in 
the Mediterranean Sea. 

244. Midland waters. The Mediterranean Sea. 

245. Syrtes. The ancient name of Gulf of Sidra, off North Africa, 
the chief arm of the Mediterranean on the south, soft Sicily. Sic- 
ily is noted for its delightful climate ; hence the term, " soft Sicily." 

247. western straits. Strait of Gibraltar. 

250. Iberians. Inhabitants of the Iberian Peninsula, formed by 
Portugal and Spain. 

What atmosphere is given the poem by the first stanza ? What 
quest is to be begun, 1. 10 ? What caused the " Scholar" to join 
himself to the gipsies ? What were his original intentions ? Why, 
then, did he continue with them till his death ? Why would he 
avoid others than members of the gipsy crew ? Why his pensive 
air ? To what truth does the author suddenly awake ? How does 
the Scholar-Gipsy yet live to him ? Explain fully lines 180-200. 



Page 132] NOTES 203 

Note carefully the author's contrast between the life led by the 
Scholar-Gipsy and our modern life. Which is better ? Why ? Make 
an application of the figure of the Tyrian trader. Is it apt ? Why 
used by the poet ? Discuss the verse form used. Is it adapted to 
the theme of the poem ? 

THYRSIS (Page 132) 

A monody to commemorate the author's friend, Arthur Hugh 
Clough, who died at Florence, 1861. 

Throughout this poem there is reference to the preceding selection, 
77ie Scholar- Gipsy, of which it is the companion piece, and, in a 
sense, the sequel. It is one of the four great elegies in the English 
language. 

Thyrsis is a name common to both ancient and modern literature. 
In the Idyls of Theocritus it is used as the name of a herdsman ; in 
the Eclogues of Vergil, of a shepherd ; while in later writings it has 
come to mean any rustic. 

Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861), whose poetry is closely akin 
in spirit to Arnold's, was a young man of genius and promise. He 
studied at both Rugby and Oxford, where he and Arnold were in- 
timately associated and became fast friends. In 1859 his health 
began to fail, and two years later he died in Florence, Italy, where 
he had gone in the hope of being benefited by the climate. 

Arnold, in a letter to his mother dated April, 1866, says of his 
poem: "Tell dear old Edward [Arnold] that the diction of the 
Thyrsis was modelled on that of Theocritus, whom I have been 
much reading during the two years this poem has been forming 
itself, and that I meant the diction to be so artless as to be almost 
heedless. However, there is a mean which must not be passed, 
and before I reprint this I will consider well all objections. The 
images are all from actual observation. . . . The cuckoo in the 



204 NOTES [Pages 132-133 

wet June morning, I heard in the garden at Woodford, and all 
those three stanzas, which you like, are reminiscences of Wood- 
ford. Edward has, I think, fixed on the two stanzas I myself like 
best : 'O easy access,' and 'And long the way appears.' I also 
like ' Where is the girl,' and the stanza before it; but that is be- 
cause they bring certain places and moments before me. ... It 
is probably too quiet a poem for the general taste, but I think it 
will stand wear." To his friend, John Campbell Shairp, Arnold 
wrote, a few days later: "Thyrsis is a very quiet poem, but, I 
think, solid and sincere. It will not be popular, however. It had 
long been in my head to connect Clough with that Cumner country, 
and, when I began, I was carried irresistibly into this form. You 
say, truly, that there was much in Clough (the whole prophetic 
side, in fact) which one cannot deal with in this way. . . . Still, 
Clough had the idyllic side, too ; to deal with this suited my desire 
to deal again with that Cumner country. Anyway, only so could 
I treat the matter this time. Valeat quantum.'''' 

1. -Note how the tone of the poem is struck in the first line. 

2. In the two Hinkseys. That is. North and South Hinksey. 
See note, 1. 125, The Scholar- Gipsy. 

4. Sibylla's name. In ancient mythology the Sibyls were cer- 
tain women reputed to possess special powers of prophecy, or divi- 
nation, and who claimed to make special intercession with the gods 
in behalf of those who resorted to them. Do you see why their 
"name" would be used on signs as here mentioned? 

6. ye hills. See note, 1. 30, The Scholar-Gipsy. 

14. Ilsley Downs. The surface of East and West Ilsley parishes, 
in Berkshire, some twelve or fourteen miles south of Oxford, is 
broken by ranges of plateau-like hills, known in England as downs. 

15. The Vale. White Horse Vale ; the upper valley of the 
River Ock, westward from Oxford, weirs. See note, 1. 95, TJie 
Scholar-Gipsy. 



Page 133] NOTES 205 

19. And that sweet city with her dreaming spires. Arnold's 
intense love for Oxford and the surrounding country appears in 
many of his essays and poems. In the introduction to hig Essays 
on Criticism, Vol. I, occurs the following tribute: "Beautiful 
city ! so venerable, so lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellec- 
tual life of our century, so serene ! 

*' ' There are our young barbarians all at play ! ' 

And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her garments 
to the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last enchant- 
ment of the Middle Age, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable 
charm, keeps ever calling us nearer the true goal of all of us, to the 
ideal, to perfection — to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen 
from another side ? . . . Home of lost causes and forsaken beliefs 
and unpopular names and impossible loyalties ! what example could 
ever so inspire us to keep down the Philistine in ourselves, what 
teacher could ever so save us from that bondage to which we are all 
prone, that bondage which Goethe, in hislncomparable lines on the 
death of Schiller, makes it his friend's highest praise ... to have 
left miles out of sight behind him : the bondage of ' was uns alle 
bandigt. Das Gemeine' ? " 

20. Compare with Lowell's lines on June, in The Vision of Sir 
Launfal. 

22-23. Explain. 

24. Once pass'd I blindfold here. That is, at one time I could 
have passed here blindfolded, being so familiar with the country. 
Can you think of any other possible interpretation ? 

26-30. Explain. 

31-40. Compare the thought here to that of Milton's Lycidas, 
11. 23-38. A comparison of the two poems entire, in thought and 
structure, will be found to be both interesting and profitable. 
Shepherd-pipe (1. 35). The term pipe, also reed (1. 78), is 



206 NOTES [Pages 134-135 

continually used in pastoral verse as symbolic of poetry and 
song. 

38-45. Needs must I lose them, etc. That is, I must lose them, 
etc. Arnold's great ambition was to devote his life to literature, 
which circumstances largely prevented ; while Clough was eager to 
take a more active part in life, not being content with the unevent- 
ful career of a poet, irk'd (1. 40). Annoyed; worried, keep 
(1. 43). Here used in the sense of remain, silly (1. 45). Harm- 
less ; senseless. The word has an interesting history. 

46-50. Like Arnold, Clough held lofty ideals of life, and grieved 
to see men living so far below their privileges. This, with his loss 
of faith in God, tinged his poetry with sadness. The storms (1. 49) 
allude to the spiritual, political, and social unrest of the last of the 
first half, and first of the last half, of the nineteenth century. 

51-60. So ... So ... . Just as the cuckoo departs with the 
bloom of the year, so he (Clough) went, 1. 48. With blossoms 
red and white (1. 55). The white thorn, or hawthorn, very com- 
mon in English gardens. 

62. high Midsummer pomps. Explained in the following lines. 

71. light comer. That is, the cuckoo. Compare 

" O blithe New-comer." 

— Wordsworth, Lines to the Cuckoo.'^ 

77. swains. Consult dictionary. 

78. reed. See note, 1. 35 of poem. 

79. And blow a strain the world at last shall heed. On the 
whole, Clough's poetry was either ignored or harshly criticised by 
the reviewers. 

80. Corydon. In the Idyls of Theocritus, Corydon and Thyrsis, 
shepherd swains, compete for a prize in music. 

84. Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate. Bion of Smyrna, Asia 
Minor, a celebrated bucolic poet of the second century e.g., spent 



Pages 135-136] NOTES 207 

the later years of his life in Sicily, where it is supposed he was 
poisoned. His untimely death was lamented by his follower and 
pupil, Moschus of Syracuse, in an idyl marked by fhelody and 
genuine pathos, ditty. In a general sense, any song; usually 
confined, however, to a song narrating some heroic deed. 

85. cross the unpermitted ferry's flow. That is, cross the rivei 
of Woe, over which Charon ferried the shades of the dead to 
Hades. Mythology records several instances, however, of the ferry 
being passed by mortals. See note, 11. 34-39, Memorial Verses; 
also 11. 207-210, The SchoJar-Gipsy, of this volume. 

88-89. Proserpine, wife to Pluto (1. 86) and queen of the under- 
world, was anciently honored, with flower festivals in Sicily, as the 
goddess of the spring. 

90. And flute his friend like Orpheus, etc. See note, 11. 34-39, 
Memorial Verses. 

94. She knew the Dorian water's gush divine. The river 
Alpheus, in the northwestern part of the Peloponnesus — the 
country of the Dorians — disappears from the surface and flows in 
subterranean channels for some considerable part of its course to 
the sea. In ancient Greek mythology it was reputed to rise again 
to the surface in central Sicily, in the vale of Enna, the favorite 
haunt of Proserpine, as the fountain of Arethusa. 

95-96. She knew each lily white which Enna yields, etc. 
According to Greek mythology, Proserpine was gathering flowers 
in the vale of Enna when carried off by Pluto. 
• 97. She loved the Dorian pipe, etc. What reason or reasons 
can you give for Proserpine's love of things Dorian ? 

106. I know the Fyfield tree. See 1. 83, The Scholar- Gipsy. 

109, Ensham, Sanf ord. Small towns on the Thames ; the former, 
some four miles above Oxford ; the latter, a like distance below. 

123. Wytham flats. Some three miles above Oxford, along the 
Thames. 



208 " NOTES [Pages 136-139 

135. sprent. Sprinkled. The preterit or past participle of 
spreng (obsolete or archaic). 

141-150. Explain. 

155. Berkshire. See note, 1. 58, Tlie Scholar- Gipsy. 

167. Arno-vale. The valley of the Arno, a river in Tuscany, 
Italy, on which Florence is situated. 

175. To a boon . . . country he has fled. That is, to Italy. 

177. the great Mother. Ceres, the earth goddess. 

181-190. Daphnis, the ideal Sicilian shepherd of Greek pastoral 
poetry, was said to have followed into Phrygia his mistress Piplea, 
who had been carried off by robbers, and to have found her in the 
power of the king of Phrygia, Lityerses. Lityerses used to make 
strangers try a contest with him in reaping corn, and to put them 
to death if he overcame them. Hercules arrived in time to save 
Daphnis, took upon himself the reaping contest with Lityerses, 
overcame him, and slew him. The Lityerses-song connected with 
this tradition was, like the Linus-song, one of the early, plaintive 
strains of Greek popular poetry, and used to be sung by the corn 
reapers. Other traditions represented Daphnis as beloved by a 
nymph, who exacted from him an oath to love no one else. He 
fell in love with a princess, and was struck blind by the jealous 
nymph. Mercury, who was his father, raised him to heaven, and 
made a fountain spring up in the place from which he ascended. 
At this fountain the Sicilians offered yearly sacrifices. See Ser- 
vius, Comment, in Vergil. Bucol., V, 20, and VIII, 68. 

191-200. Explain the Ihies. Sole (1. 192). See 1. 563, Sohrab 
and Bustum. soft sheep (1. 198). Note the use of the adjective 
soft. Cf. soft Sicily, 1. 245, The Scholar-Gipsy. 

201-202. A fugitive and gracious light, etc. What is the light 
sought by the Scholar-Gipsy and by the poet ? Beginning with 
1. 201, explain the succeeding stanzas, sentence by sentence, to 
the close of the poem. Then sum up the thought in a few words. 



Page UO] NOTES 209 

What is the author's mood, as shown by the first stanza ? What 
is his purpose in recalling the haunts once familiar to hhn about 
Oxford ? Why the mention of the Scholar-Gipsy ? What is 
the significance of the "tree" so frequently alluded to in the 
poem ? Discuss stanzas 4 and 5 as to meaning. To what is 
Thyrsis (Clough) likened in stanzas 6, 7, and 8? Where, how- 
ever, is there a difference ? Apply 11. 81-84 to Clough and 
Arnold. How do you explain the "easy access" of the Dorian 
shepherds to Proserpine, 1. 91 ? What digression is made in 11. 
131-150 ? What is the poet's attitude toward life ? Why will he 
not despair so long as the "lonely tree" remains? What com- 
parison does he make between Clough and the Scholar-Gipsy ? 
What is the "gracious light," 1. 201? Where found? What 
voice whispers to him amid the "heart-wearying roar" of the 
city ? What effect does it have upon him ? Does it give him 
courage or fortitude ? Discuss the verse form and diction of the 
poem. 

RUGBY CHAPEL (Page 140) 

Bughy Chapel (1857), one of Arnold's best-known and most char- 
acteristic productions, was written in memory of his father, Dr. 
Thomas Arnold, famous as the great head-master at Rugby. Dr. 
Arnold was born at East Cowes in the Isle of Wight, June 13, 
1795, and as a boy was at school at Warminster and Winchester. 
In 1811 he entered Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and having 
won recognition as a scholar, was awarded a fellowship of the Oriel 
in 1815. Three years later he settled at Laleham, where, in 1820, 
he married Mary Penrose, daughter of Justice Penrose, and where, 
two years later, was born Matthew, who was destined to win 
marked distinction among English men of letters. In 1827 he was 
elected head-master at Rugby, and shortly afterward began those 



210 NOTES [Pages 140-142 

important reforms which have placed him among the greatest 
educators of his century. Chief among liis writings is his History 
of Borne,, published in several volumes. In 1841 he was appointed 
Regius Professor of History at Oxford. He died very suddenly on 
Sunday, June 12, 1842, and on the following Friday his remains 
were interred in the chancel of Rugby Chapel, immediately under 
the communion table. 

In his poem Arnold has drawn a vivid picture of a strong, help- 
ful, hopeful, unselfish soul, cheering and supporting his weaker 
comrades in their upward and onward march — a picture of the 
guide and companion of his earlier years ; and in so doing he has 
preserved his father's memory to posterity in a striking and an 
abiding way. 

1-13. Note carefully the tone of these introductory lines, and 
determine the poet's purpose in opening the poem in this mood. 
The picture inevitably calls to mind Bryant's lines. The Death of 
the Flowers. 

16. gloom. The key-word to the preceding lines. Explain why 
it calls to mind the poet's father. Keats makes a similar use of the 
word forlorn in his Ode to the Nightingale. 

"... forlorn. 
Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 
To toll me back from thee to my sole self." 

30-33. Discuss the figure as to its aptness. 

37. shore. A word common to hymns. 

38-57. Discuss the poet's idea of the future life as set forth in 
these lines. Can you think of any other author or authors who have 
held a like view ? 

58-59. The poet asks this question only to answer it in the lines 
following. Compare and contrast the two classes of men spoken 
of ; their aims in life and their achievements. Why is the path of 



Pages 143-147] NOTES 211 

those who have chosen a " clear-purposed goal " pictured so difficult ? 
Who are they that start well, but fall out by the wayside ? 

90-93. Compare with Byron's description of a storm in the Alps, 
Canto III, Childe Harold. 

" Far along, 
. From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder." 

98-101. So unstable is the hold of the "snow-beds" on the 
mountain sides that travellers passing beneath them are forbidden 
by the guides to speak, lest their voices precipitate an avalanche. 
See 11. 160-109, Sohrab and Bustum. 

117-123. What human frailties are indicated in the answer to 
the host's question ? Note the contrast in the succeeding lines. 

124-144. The imagery of these lines is drawn from Dr. Arnold's 
life at Kugby. Under his care frequent excursions were made into 
the neighboring Westmoreland Hills. Nothing perhaps gives a 
better idea of the man than the description of his " delight in those 
long mountain walks, when they would start with their provisions 
for the day, himself the guide and life of the party, always on the 
lookout how best to break the ascent by gentle stages, comforting 
the little ones in their falls and helping forward those who were 
tired, himself always keeping with the laggers, that none might 
strain their strength by trying to be in front with him ; and then, 
when his assistance was not wanted, the liveliest of all — his step 
so light, his eye so quick in finding flowers to take home to those 
who were not of the party." — Arthur Penrhyn Stanley. 

171. In the rocks. That is, among the rocks. 

190. Ye. Antecedent? 

208. City of God. 

"There is a river the streams whereof shall make glad the city of 
God." 

— Psalms, xlvi : 4. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Abbey towers, 192. 

Ader-baijan, 156. 

^gean Isles, 202. 

Afrasiab, 156. 

Agog, 188. 

Ajax, 189. 

Alcmena's dreadful son, 182. 

All red . . . bathed in foam, 170. 

Aloof he sits, etc., 159. 

And that . . . more, 169. 

Ariosto, 192. 

Arno-vale, 208. 

Art, 180. 

Arthur's court, 169. 

Art thou not Rustum ? 160. 

Asopus, 181. 

As some grave Tyrian trader, etc 

202. 
As when some hunter, etc., 162. 
At my boy's years, 156. 
Attruck, 158. 
Austerity of Poetry, 19i. 
Averse, as Dido did, etc., 200. 

Bablockhithe, 199. 
Bagley Wood, 199. 
Bahrein, 160. 
Beethoven, 192. 
Be govern'd, 160. 
Belgrave Square, 195. 
Bell, 166. 



Berkshire moors, 198. 

Bethnal Green, 195. 

Blessed sign, 171. 

Blow a strain the world at last 

shall heed, 206. 
Bokhara, 157. 
Bow'd his head, 161. 
Breathed on by rural Pan, 178. 
Broce-liande, 174. 
Bruited up, 162. 
Byron, 196. 
By thy father's head, 160. 

Cabin'd, 177. 
Cabool, 159. 
Caked the sand, 163. 
Casbin, 157. 
Centaurs, 181. 
Chambery, 176. 
Chancel, 176. 
Chatelaine, 170. 
Chian wine, 202. 
Chiel, 188. 

Chisell'd broideries, 176. 
Chorasma, 163. 
Chorasmian stream, 181. 
Christ Church hall, 199. 
Cirque, 172. 
City of God, 211. 
Clusters of lonely mounds, 181. 
-Cobham, 187. 
213 



214 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Common chance, 156. 

Common fight, 156. 

Consolation, 111. 

Cool gallery, 177. 

Corn, 158. 

Corselet, 162. 

Corydon,206. 

Crest, 161. 

Cross and recross, 198. 

Cross the unpermitted ferry's tiow, 

207. 
Cruse, 108. 
Cunning, 162. 
Curdled, 161. 

Dais, 176. 

Dance around the Fyfield elm in 

May, 199. 
Dante, 192. 
Daphnis, 208. 
Daulis, 185. 

Dearer to the red jackals, etc., 162. 
Destiny, 178. 
Device, 160. 
Dight, 160. 
Dingles, 201. 
Ditty, 207. 
Dogg'd, 172. 

Do not we . . . await it too ? 200. 
Dover Beach, 183. 

East London, 195. 

Empire, 174. 

Ensham, 207. 

Epilogue to Leasing^ s Laocoon, 191. 

Erst, 198. 

Eternal passion ! eternal pain ! 185. 

Eurydice, 197. 

Even clime, 194. 



Falcon, 159. 

Fane, 180. 

Farringford, 187. 

Faun with torches, 183. 

Favour'd guest of Circe, 180. 

Fay, 170. 

Fay, 174. 

Fell-fare, 173. 

Ferghana, 158. 

Ferment the milk of mares, 157. 

Fight unknown and in plain arms, 

159. 
Find a father thou hast never 

seen, 156. 
First grey of morning fill'd the 

east, 155. 
Fix'd, 158. 
Flowers, 160. 
Flute his friend, like Orpheus, 

etc., -207. 
Foliaged marble forest, 177. 
Foolish, 195. 
For a cloud, etc., 161. 
Fretwork, 176. 
Fro re, 157. 
Fugitive and gracious light, etc.. 

208. 
Full struck, 161. 

Geist, 188. 
Geist's Grave, 191. 
Girl's wiles, 161. 
Glad, 161. 
Glancing, 161. 
Glanvil, 200. 
Glanvil'sbook, 198. 
Glass, 162. 
Gloom, 210. 
Godstow Bridge, 199. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



21; 



Goethe, 192. 

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, 196. 

Go to ! 159. 

Grand Old Man, 188. 

Grange, 200. 

Great Mother, 208. 

Green isle, 169. 

Green-muffled, 199. 

Griffin, 162. 

Gulls, 173. 

Hair that red, 164. 

Hamau, 157. 

Hapj)y Islands, 181. 

Hark . . . sun, 166. 

Have found, 162. 

Heap a stately mound, etc., 163. 

Heaths starr'd with broom, 166. 

Heats, 194. 

Hebrides, 164. 

Hector, 189. 

Helen, 190. 

Helm, 161. 

Helmund, 163. 

Hera's anger, 181. 

Heroes, 182. 

He spoke . . . men, 159. 

Hies, 193. 

High Midsummer pomps, 206. 

Hinksey, 199. 

His long rambles . . . ground, 170. 

Hollow, 161. 

K^lly trees and juniper, 172. 

Holy Lassa, 177. 

Holy well, 166. 

Homer, 193. 

Homily, 191. 

Honied nothings, 172. 

How thick the bursts, etc., 185. 



Huge world, 178. 
Human Life, 186. 
Hurrying fever, 194. 
Hurst, 198. 

Hurtling Polar lights, 164. 
Hydaspes, 161. 
Hyde Park, 191. 
Hyphasis, 161. 

lacchus, 180. 

Iberians, 202. 

I came . . . passing wind, 162. 

I know the Fylield tree, 207. 

Ilsley Downs, 204. 

Incognisable, 186. 

Indian Caucasus, 159. 

In his light youth, 194. 

Inly-written chart, 186. 

Inviolable shade, 201. 

Iran, 159. 

Irk'd, 206. 

Iron age, 196. 

Iron coast, 173. 

Iseult, 169. 

Is Merlin prisoner, etc., 174. 

Isolation, 186. 

Is she not come ? 168. 

Ivy-cinctured, 179. 

Jaxartes, 158. 

Joppa, 164. 

Joy, 194. 

Just-pausing Genius, 200. 

Kai Khosroo, 159. 
Kaiser Dead, 187. 
Kalmucks, 158. 
Kara Kul, 157. 
Keep, 206. 



216 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Ken, 195. 

Kept uninfringed my nature's law, 

186. 
Kliiva, 157. 
Kliorassan, 158. 
Kindled, 161. 
King Marc, 169. 
Kipchak, 158. 
Kirghizzes, 158. 
Kohik, 163. 
Kuzzaks, 158. 

Lapithse, 182. 

Lasher pass, 199. 

Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard, 
170. 

Leads, 177. 

Leaguer, 171. 

Leper recollect, 164. 

Light comer, 206. 

Like that autumn star, 161. 

Like that hold Caesar, etc., 173. 

Lines Written in Kensington Gar- 
dens, 178. 

Lion's heart, 159. 

Lions sleeping, 180. 

Lips that rarely form them now, 
191. 

Lityerses, 208. 

Loud Tyntagel's hill, 169. 

Lovely orphan child, 170. 

Luminous home, 163. 

Lyoness, 169. 

Maenad, 183. 

Mail, 166. 

Marcus Aurelius, 194. 

Margaret, 165. 

Matin-chime, 176. 



Memorial Verses, 196. 

Mendelssohn, 192. 

Midland waters, 202. 

Milk-harr'd onyx-stones, 181. 

Miserere Domine, 192. 

Moon, 187. 

Moonstruck knight, 171. 

Moorghah, 163. 

Mountain-chalets, 176. 

Movement, 193. 

Mozart, 192. 

Muses, 180. 

My princess . . . good night, 171, 

Needs must I lose them, etc., 206. 
Never was that field lost or that 

foe saved, 160, 
New bathed stars, 163. 
Northern Sir, 163. 
Nymphs, 180. 

O'er . . . sea, 169. 
Of age and looks, etc., 162. 
Old-world Breton history, 173. 
Once pass'd I blindfold here, 205. 
One lesson, 193. 
One slight helpless girl, 159. 
On that day, 163. 
Orgunje, 163. 
Orpheus, 197. 
Outlandish, 199. 
Oxford towers, 198. 
Oxus, 155. 

O wanderer from a Grecian shore, 
184. 

Painter and musician too, 193. 
Palladium, 189. 
Palmers, 176. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



217 



Pamere, 156. 

Pan's flute music, 180. 

Passing weary, 175. 

Pausauias, 191. 

Pelion, 181. 

Pen-bryn's bold bard, 187. 

Peran-Wisa, 156. 

Persepolis, 163. 

Persian King, 157. 

Perused, 160. 

Petrarch, 192. 

Philomela, 184. 

Phoebus-guarded ground, 191. 

Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate, 

206. 
Pleasaunce-walks, 169. 
Posting here and there, 173. 
Potsdam, 188. 

Prick'd upon this arm, etc., 162. 
Prickers, 176. 
Prie-dieu, 173. 
Priest, 166. 

Prince Alexander, 174. 
Prore, 186. 
Proserpine, 207. 

Quiet Work, 193. 

Range, 180. 

Raphael, 192. 

Rates, 195. 

Recks not, 171. 

Red fruited yew tree, 200. 

Reed, 205. 

Remember all thy valour, 161. 

Requiescat, 177. 

Ride, 192. 

Right for the polar star, 163. 

Roman Emperor, 171. 



Rotha, 197. 
Rout, 180. 
Rughij Chapel, 209. 
Rustum! 161. 

Sackcloth, 194. 

Saint Brandan, 164. 

Samarcand, 156. 

Sanford, 207. 

Sate, 159. 

Savoy, 176. 

Sconce, 172. 

Scythian . . . embers, 181. 

Seal'd, 166. 

Secret in his breast, 171. 

See what the day brings, 180. 

Seistan, 156. 

Self -Dependence, 190. 

Self-murder, 164. 

Seneschal, 173. 

Shakespeare, 193. 

Shakespeare, 193. 

She knew each lily white which 

Enna yields, etc., 207. 
She knew the Dorian water's gush 

divine, 207. 
She loved the Dorian pipe, etc., 207. 
Shepherd-pipe, 205. 
Shore, 161. 
Sibylla's name, 204. 
Silenus, 183. 
Silly, 206. 
Simois, 189. 
Skye, 188. 

Snow-haired Zal, 159, 
Soft sheep, 208. 
Soft Sicily, 202. 
Sohrah and Rustum, 149. 
Sole, 162. 



218 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Son of Italy, 194. 

Sophocles, 183. 

So ... So ... , 206. 

Soudan, 174. 

South, 192. 

Spitalfields, 195. 

Sprent, 208. 

Stagshorn, 173. 

Stem, 186. 

Stranger-knight, ill-starr'd, 170. 

Strange unloved uproar, 178. 

Style, 162. 

Sunk, 156. 

Sun sparkled, etc., 161. 

Swains, 206. 

Syrtes, 202. 

Tagg'd, 199. 

Tale, 160. 

Tartar camp, 155. 

Tasso, 192. 

Teen, 200. 

Tejend, 163. 

That old king, 162. 

That sweet city with her dreaming 

spires, 205. 
Thebes, 181. 

The Church of Brou, 176. 
The Forsaken Merman, 165. 
The Last Word, 188. 
There, go ! etc., 157. 
The Scholar-Gipsy, 197. 
Thessaly, 199. 
The Strayed Reveller, 179. 
Thine absent master, 191. 
Thou had'st one aim, etc., 200. 
Thou hast not lived, 200. 
Thou possessest an immortal lot, 

etc., 200. 



Thou wilt not fright me so, 160. 

Thracian wild, 184. 

Thyrsis, 203. 

Tiresias, 181. 

Titans, 196. 

To a boon . . . country he has 

fled, 208. 
Too clear web, etc., 185. 
Toorkmuns, 158. 
Tower'd, 160. 
Transept, 176. 
Tried, 160. 

Tristram and Iseult, 167. 
Troy, 182. 
Tukas, 158. 
Tunnies, 202. 
Tyntagel, 169. 

Ulysses, 180. 
Unconscious hand, 162. 
Unknown sea, 182. 
Unnatural, 161. 

Vacant, 192. 
Vale, 204. 
Vast, 160. 
Vasty, 177. 
Vaunt, 160. 
Virgilian cry, 191. 

Wanders, 169. 
Wattled cotes, 198. 
Weirs, 204. 
Welcomed here, 170. 
Western straits, 202. 
West London, 195. 
What ... be? 168. 
What boots it, 171. 
What endless activie life, 178. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



219 



What foul fiend rides thee? 171. 
Whether that . . . or in some quar- 
rel, 157. 
Which much to have tried, etc., 200. 
Wild white horses, 165. 
Wimple, 17-i. 

With a bitter smile, etc., 1(31. 
With blossoms red aud white, 206. 
Wordsworth, 192. 
WorhUy Place, 194. 
Wrack, 161. 



Wychwood bowers, 199. 
Wytham flats, 207. 

Xanthus, 189. 

Yellow Tiber, 177. 

Yes, 187. 

Youth's Agitations, 194. 

Zal, 157. 
Zirrah, 163. 



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